The Many Shapes of Fortune
by itwasneversimple
Summary: The Wheel of time still turns, and the three children of the Wolf-Brother, Perrin, find themselves thrust out on their own paths of danger, Knowledge, and fortune. They learn the meaning of leadership, responsibility, and definition of self. Olwrick, Chalinda, and Arryne find that doom is often closely related to the answers they seek.
1. 000 - Prologue

**Prologue:**

The Two Rivers. Light, but the place had blown up in the past few years. Buildings of more than a few types had been erected in a less-than organized fashion and the once simple village of Edmonds Field was no longer. Thatched roofs, tiled roofs of all manner of colors had been erected on wooden and white-washed walls up and down roads that were wide enough to let more than four wagons (and steam-powered wagons) through at any given time.

The place, as a whole, rarely slept. Even in the late hours of the night, light and sounds of merry making would be found pooling out of open doors of warm, cozy inns where men could be found drinking ale and dicing. The denizens, overall, were happy. Men worked, men lazed, and compromised in all manners in between. It was peaceful. Busy, but peaceful. One could not pass down a road without seeing at least a few children running freely, without much worry.

Good times had come, since the Dark One was banished once more—trapped by the Dragon Reborn and sealed away in his prison a little over ten years ago. Of course, the lands were not without it's smaller squabbles. But it all seemed incredibly minute in comparison. Besides, peace did not come without at least _some_ cost. The place was by no means, an easy place to run.

There was paperwork. Light, there was paperwork; paperwork on food distribution, commerce, property ownership, marriages, births, deaths, and all manner of things that the officially labeled Lord of the Two Rivers, Perrin t'Bashere Aybara could hardly keep a mind of—even after ten years. There was enough paperwork to make a man grow grey hairs, and a stiff backside. Not to mention, of course, the meetings, the politics, and keeping the peace amongst his citizens.

However, Perrin found peace in the Wolf Dream each night, escaping the dull monotony of day to day things by running freely with his brothers on fresh green and through thick, thriving forestry. He stepped into the Wolf Dream this night drawing a deep breath and letting his boots disappear so as to sink his toes into the grass below him. A soft breeze crept over him as he stood on the grounds of his (too large for his taste) home. The bloody thing was three stories tall. Three! Perrin had wanted something more to his tastes—simple—but his beloved Faile would have none of it.

A few clouds dotted the skies above him, and constellations twinkled in and out of focus. The moon, overhead, was not full. But it was bright. The land, at any rate, seemed to be bathed in an unearthly light—as if each individual blade of grass was a tiny, extraordinarily dim light itself. It was neither too cold, nor too warm. Ideal. Perrin made his boots appear on his feet once more, but made his finely embroidered shirt seem of thinner material.

His brothers, distantly, called to him. Sending him scents and images of freedom.

'_Run, Young Bull!'_ They sent. The call was tempting. However, tonight he was not entirely without responsibility.

While his wife, his son, and his youngest daughter slept peacefully in cozy beds in his home, his eldest daughter, Arryne (Faile insisted on the name) was gallivanting her way towards White Ridge with a trading caravan led by Tam Al'Thor (who was _well_ past the years a man should be travelling about the country-side—but the man was as sturdy as ever) after pleading for weeks to be let off of her mother's apron strings for a few weeks.

And weeks it had indeed taken to wear her parents down enough to let her go. Half way to Caemlyn she'd go, travelling (on her _best_ behavior, no doubt) under the watchful and trusted eyes of the late Dragon Reborn's father. Perrin would have stomped the fool idea out of her head if he'd been able (he'd probably filled her head with all sorts of nonsense of tales from the Last Battle) but his wife had coaxed him into letting her go. She was still _very_ young, yet, only reaching her tenth year as of a few weeks ago. Too young, in Perrin's opinion, to be let out of the watchful eye of either her parents.

She would travel with Tam, and a handful of his Wolf Guard, a few Cha'Faile to Whitebridge, then sent by gateway straight home so that little Arryne could brag of her adventures to her younger siblings.

There was, in all truth, little danger these days. Very few bandits were active anymore, and under such a tight supervision… She'd be fine. Right?

He let out a sigh, stepping beyond his property and leaping (in a few great strides) to where he suspected Tam's camp would be set up for the eve. Forests, roads, and rivers blurred around him as he _shifted_ through the dream, merely by willing it. Certainly, no one thought that he would leave his daughter _completely_ unattended, did they?

Going over the schedule that himself and Tam had gone over (numerous times) in his mind, he stepped to a clearing that he suspected they'd be sure to have camped in. However, there were little signs that anyone had been there at all. He waited for a few moments, reassuring himself that it might take a few moments for the wagons and tents to flicker in and out of the dream—nothing that was not permanent or had been there for quite some time ever stayed soundly here.

The area was calm, set back in a nook of tree-cover that would have made excellent camping ground. A clearing of low grasses swayed with an uneasy breeze. Leaves brushed against each other under a clear sky. No lanterns appeared or disappeared, or fire pits. No tent flaps or wagons, either.

Nothing appeared.

Suddenly, something seemed very, very wrong. Worry crept into his mind, and sent a cold shiver down his spine. Where were they?

Perrin kept those feelings at bay, reaching out to wolves, anyone who would listen, in inquiry. He sent images of his daughter, and had a hard time keeping the scent of fear that was beginning to settle upon him from them. They knew of her already (the day she was born—his first born, he had led a hunt in celebration of his first pup. Howls of pride, and a feeling that to this day he couldn't possibly have described had filled the air, both in the dream, and out). He paced, tense. Perhaps he was just worrying too much. This was his daughter's first time out of the Two Rivers since she'd been born. She was okay. Tam would protect her.

'_You seek your cub, Young Bull_,_' _a dappled wolf sent, not too far away. '_They passed here long before you._' She sent images of the caravan, safe and sound passing. Others, further away passed along that the caravan had been seen a few days north of here.

It took him only a few seconds to _shift_ to the area indicated, and to begin scouring the land in great leaps and bounds. Through the loping plains of the Caralain Grasses, to the river Ive, and in between. He passed the Tower of Ghenjei, cold and stark—like a spear thrust into the ground, a permanent reminder, in a fury of bolting legs. Wolves, who had felt his concern had joined him in his search. He _shifted_ again and again, in small bursts and in great strides.

_'Here, Young Bull,_' came a message.

He was there in a blink, barely taking time to register where it was he was going.

The caravan, not at all far from the base of the Tower of Ghenjei, flickered in and out of the dream. Silently, he cursed himself for being so hasty. His worry had been for naught. It was fine. The caravan was fine. His daughter would be well taken care of. He hefted a heavy sigh of relief, running a hand through hair that had seen a few greys recently.

Why were they so far north?

He peeked in and around the campsite, though nothing remained for long. Nothing seemed amiss. Bedrolls came and went, as did various tools. A tin cup here, a spare wheel there. Everything was calm. The question rolled in his mind though, and he tossed the idea around of returning in the physical form to demand, in person, what the change in course had been for. The cold feeling in his spine did not dissipate.

He settled on his idea, deciding to awake and travel first thing in the morning. He'd bring his daughter home by the ears if he had to. Knowing her, she'd convinced them to take a longer route so as to expand her time away from home. Arryne was an independent one. Always asking why, and investigating the world around her. Perrin was fond of that in her. She was bright, and he suspected that as she grew older that knack of information gathering would prove useful as a lord. Her ideas of adventure though… Like all youths, she thought that it meant glory.

Something rustled in the grass behind him.

Without thinking, Perrin _shifted_ from where the noise came from, hammer appearing in his hand. His teeth bared, on instinct, and he prepared a swing-

At a fox, and a snake.

He lowered his weapon, but remained tense. It wasn't unusual to see other animals in the Wolf Dream, as this was a dream shared by many. However, something… There was something unnatural about the way they were.

The snake rested at the fox's paws, unmoving—and oddity on its own. They were facing him, seemingly not worried at all by his presence. The air seemed to _move_ around the two animals, and their smell… It wasn't natural. They were not of this world, or Perrin's. For mere animals alone, their eyes were too keen. Too intelligent. The air seemed to bend like heat-waves around them. His first instinct was to strike, and he raised his hammer until—

"A bargain to be made," the snake hissed.

Perrin nearly dropped his hammer.

"A price must be set," the fox whispered, voice low, and sultry.

Neither of the two beings' mouths moved. Not one little bit. But Perrin knew, he _knew_ that they were talking to him. Something tickled at the back of his brain. Something about this…

"Price? Bargain?" Perrin demanded, his tone sharp and dangerous.

"We hold that which you seek, Young Bull," the sultry voice continued, not acknowledging that Perrin had spoke at all.

A sense of dread dropped into Perrin's stomach like a pile of stones. Arryne. He unconsciously glanced towards the tower; metallic, and shimmering in the clear moonlight. _No. NO._ He was struck, as if punched, by a realization. Mat had dealt with these creatures before—on their terms. Mat had walked away missing an eye.

"Give her back," he growled. Why had they left their tower? _How_ had they left their tower? –Their world?! How in the bloody ashes had they gotten a hold of her? _How?!_

"A bargain to be made," the low voice hissed.

"A price has been set. Her life, for time."

"Six of your years."

"Safely she will pass."

"Six of your years."

"She is ours."

"No. NO," Perrin snarled. "You bring her back. Whatever the cost you bring her back! I _will_ come for her."

"A break in the bargain."

"Her life, for your security, then?"

"No!"

"Six of your years."

"She is ours."

Then they were no more. Vanished. The ripple in the air where they had been remained for but a second, before fading. Perrin tried, desperately, to trace their scents—to follow them. But it was as if he were a cub in the dream once more, and they had never been there at all. In a rage, he threw his hammer down, sinking it deep into the earth, and cried out. His cry melded into a wail, then into a howl. In the distance, others joined in his grieving.

The Aelfinn and Eelfinn had his daughter, and would kill her if he tried to rescue her.


	2. 001 - Waking

**Chapter One:**

**Waking**

Arryne's first memories were fond ones. She'd been perching on a stiff but sturdy three-legged-stool in the kitchens of her home, fire burning pleasantly by the cooking fires sending the smells of sweet meats into the air. Light poured in from the window beyond, highlighting the wisps of steam that seemed to dance amongst one another. It had been warm. She'd had in her hand a strawberry, nicked from the cutting board of one of her mother's cooks. It was fresh, and it looked simply too good to pass up. Her feet barely touched the not-quite-dusty stone floors. The stool was uncomfortable, but the atmosphere made up for it. She took a bite.

It had been as if it were her first strawberry ever. Her first taste of _food_ ever. It was so sweet. So pure. Her eyes closed, relishing the tenderness of it. When she opened them, it was if she had finally _truly_ opened her eyes for the first time, too. Dust motes, floated daintily along the streams of light, chasing after the steam. They seemed to glow, as did everything else in the kitchen. Colors were vibrant, and everything that the light touched seemed to hum. It was if Arryne had suddenly become aware of existing all at once.

She remembered smiling broadly, and stuffing the rest of the small fruit into her mouth—as if it would be taken from her if she hadn't. She'd turned in her seat to the cook, and asked for another. By the way he'd reacted, it was if she'd asked the man to grow another head. He'd frozen, dropping his prodding stick and toppling over more than a few pots and pans in his jolt. He'd spun on his heel and fled from the kitchens, yelling for someone, anyone, to come to witness.

The rest of the day had been filled with feasts, celebrations, and teary hugs. It was if Arryne had gone somewhere for a long time or something. She hadn't really understood it, but accepted it as it came. She'd known that they were right to celebrate—not why—but that they were. In fact, she'd never forget the strange look her father, Lord of the Two Rivers, Perrin, had given her before tugging her into his broad arms and crushing her against his chest, weeping.

Indeed, her first memory was her fondest; certainly the most impressed in her mind. Everything before that moment—that small place of peace—had been like grasping at air. She'd tried. Light, she'd tried. It was if everything before then had simply been…Erased. It was somewhere, in her head. But erased and replaced with dense fog instead.

Oddly enough though, and it did register somewhere inside of her as odd, she let not one of those vast fogs in her mind keep her from interacting normally. For Arryne, it was normality. Of course, there were a few her thought her to be a bit mad.

"Who isn't a bit mad?" She'd always say.

That memory occurred almost a year ago, to the week.

Arryne t'Bashere Aybara smiled fondly, as this was her favorite memory to relive in her thoughts. That was something that she did frequently, replaying memories. She cherished them, now. Held them close to her, and tried her best not to forget anything. They were important. She'd already lost so many.

"Are you done dazing? I'd like to get back to the house," her younger brother, Olwrick grouched beside her. The two sauntered casually down an active street not too far from their home. They were perhaps four or five streets away—she'd memorized this place well. This place was _home_.

Olwrick was… Well, he was something else. As the only son, he'd grown up just a hair from being labeled spoiled, in Arryne's eyes. He was two years younger than she, and towered over her. Like all of Perrin and Faile's children, he was of olive skin and dark hair; Curly and kept short—almost against his scalp. Olwrick bore his father's wide shoulders, too. He walked straight-backed, with wide steps and a demeanor that practically shouted 'Lord'! His richly colored shirt, fresh trousers, and finely embroidered coat certainly set for him the part. His boots were clean, too. His boots were always clean.

He never commanded anyone, or bullied; though he could appear to be an imposing fellow, if one didn't know him. That was a good mark on his name at least. But the boy had a way of making people _do_ things for him. Anything. Everything. He didn't have to command or bully. The fools would just go on ahead and do as he asked them, bending over backwards with grins while doing it to boot.

Arryne though… Well, she didn't particularly act or dress like a lady at all; she'd nicked more than a few outfits from her taller brother. They were loose on her, and her own trousers billowed over her knee-high boots and swayed with her gait. Her boots were always filthy, mud stained or otherwise needing a good cleaning and/or repair. But they were comfortable, burn her! She liked these boots…. And the several other pairs that she'd gotten from his wardrobes, too. Surprisingly, her younger brother never grouched over that. Likely because for every one shirt or coat that she'd take, he had at least five more to replace them with.

Her mother despised that. She'd given up the fight to keep Arryne in a dress months ago, but she still pursed her lips and gave her a scowl that would frighten any darkfriend to the Light any time Arryne accidentally trekked mud about the house.

"Aye, aye. We'll be heading home soon," Arryne replied distantly, not once making an attempt to walk faster. Though her brother had a long stride, having taking after their father in height, she had little trouble keeping up with him, "You didn't have to tag along," she added, stepping out of the way of a woman whose hands were full. In less than two strides she was next to Olwrick again.

"There was nothing better to do," Olwrick grumbled, shrugging. He fingered the short-sword at his hip idly.

"People are going to think that you're going to take their bloody heads off," she said lightly.

"Well I'm not," he said dryly, "I'm just ready for another bout of training. It's been a few weeks. I'm itching to work myself. And watch your language."

They worked their way through the throng of people going about their day to day business. Arryne made a private game of slipping through small spaces in between carts and people with baskets of goods. She was not allowed to touch anyone, or hinder their paths in any way; those were her rules. There were plenty of those opportunities to do so. It wasn't necessarily a huge crowd, but it was far from the lesser traffics of a road with fewer shops. So far, she was doing a fairly good job. Only one woman had eyed her down for almost having tripped her.

Olwrick however, would stop every once in a while to let people through, then space his stride a bit further to catch up with her. He was certainly the more polite of the two—the both of them clearly outshined by their younger sister, Chalinda.

Truth be told, Arryne could definitely relate to her brothers itch. She, too, was ready to work her sword arms again. She also had a short-sword, as her father had all but insisted that each of his children would learn how to defend themselves. Her mother hadn't disagreed, and had in fact taken her two daughters under her wing to teach them the art of using daggers and throwing knives.

"When will ol' Tam be back?" She asked, ignoring his comment, slipping by a man who carried bolts of material of browns and greens. She came inches from whacking her nose against one of them that balanced on his shoulder.

Olwrick rolled his eyes at her, smiling, "Not sure. Probably sometime in the next few days, I guess."

Arryne nodded in acknowledgement, and pressed herself tight against the wooden side of a wagon as a group of laughing women in brightly colored dresses ambled by. She loved this game.

* * *

The two of them made it home just in time to witness the festivities, it seemed, and Light, she wanted to laugh.

The foyer was in mild chaos, as more than one maid was quivering atop a chair, heaving brooms like great swords towards the floor, cursing at a brownish-orange blur. A few serving men were trying to catch the thing—bent over with their backsides in the air, hopping about—to no avail. Her mother, exasperated tried to conduct an organized capture while her father scowled from the top of the freshly polished (judging by the smell) stairs that occupied most of the western wall.

It was almost directly underneath where he stood the thing bolted for, paws frantic and ears set low.

"What's…?" Arryne started.

"A fox in the house," Her mother, Lady Faile, snapped and jabbed her pointing finger in Olwrick's direction. "Olwrick, to the left. _Catch_ it!"

Arryne moved first though, baring a grin, and weaved through a small tangle of servicemen. She moved like liquid, dodging a broom and crouching down, one leg outstretched behind her for balance to reach underneath the finely finished Blackwood table that the blur had shot under. She reached instinctively, scooping one arm beneath the thing, the other grasping the thing firmly on the back of the neck to keep its head from thrashing back and biting her.

"Got him!" She called, sliding to her feet, and spun on her heel to display the poor creature, which was shaking in its fright. To her surprise, only the servants seemed relieved to have the thing captured. A few timidly stepped off of their stools or chairs, not meeting Faile's gaze. Perrin was still glaring daggers and Faile didn't seem any less irritated.

"Have your brother take the thing and let it go," Perrin growled, his golden eyes aglow. Olwrick made for her captive.

"Hey now! I've got it, da!" She called up, turning her torso to keep it out of reach, "If I try to pass him off he might bite. I'll take him." Arryne didn't wait for a response, and made for the door. She could practically feel the heat of Perrin's stare on her back, and she could hear her mother's voice trying to reconstruct order.

"A fox. It was a _fox_, and you were unable…"

One of the flustered serving ladies, with deep brown eyes and a high forehead, who had been shaking a broom hastily opened the door for her, and was quick to close it with a '_snap!'_ behind her. Arryne glanced back at the house, chuckling. She could still hear the bustle of her home from out here.

She made herself take a brisk pace, boots thudding pleasantly through the trodden-down and frequently used parts of her property's green. That kind of sound was soothing, for someone who enjoyed walking. She wasn't sure if it was because of the gaping chasm in her memory, or if she just liked idle noise. Either way, it was firm, and it was real. That was enough for her.

"You're going to be alright, little fellow," she cooed, adjusting her hold on him carefully as she walked, "We'll set you right down in that field over there and you can get right on your way. You've learned your lesson, I hope."

The fox squirmed, its tiny legs kicking.

She waited until she was a good distance from the house and stables before releasing it; bending down, tossing it lightly into the grass and then took a step back to get a better look at it. Its fur was a bit offset and ruffled in a few places, but in the near-evening golden bask of the afternoon sun, his contrasted splash of reds and browns against the green was a sight indeed. The little thing only took a few moments before all four legs leapt into motion, and it was bolting out of sight.

Arryne smiled, making another note to definitely remember this. A funny story with a happy ending. She turned back to make her way towards the house—and paused.

From where she was now, one of many traveling grounds could be seen. It wasn't the best view, but Arryne could still make out the stark white line in the air, widening to admit a gateway. A gateway seen from here would easily be twice as tall as she, and four times as long. Through that gateway, slowly, came a small train of canvas-covered wagons, and a small crowd of people baring wolf-head banners.

"Tam!"

She bolted for the house.

* * *

Perrin wasn't surprised that Faile was the one to initiate a private conversation with him, sending Olwrick to do something or another—he hadn't paid much attention, admittedly—and pulled him aside with a light touch on his arm.

He still loved her. Light, he loved her. Every bit of her. He would spend the rest of his life loving this woman. She'd, initially, been worried that once she'd birthed her children that Perrin wouldn't find her appealing. She'd even started a shouting match with him over it!—He hadn't come out successful in that one. Baring children had only made the woman _more_ desirable!—adding curves where he hadn't thought to look for them, and motherhood only built upon the calm, cool, feminine part of Faile that Perrin strove so hard to protect.

The moment they entered their chambers, and the door swung closed, Faile took Perrin's face in her hands, reaching up and gazing at him straight in his eyes. That look always left him tongue-tied. Even after all of these years.

"My husband, you must not think too much of this," she said softly.

That _did_ surprise Perrin. _She_ was comforting _him_? Inwardly, he shook the feeling off. He really shouldn't be surprised. She certainly knew how he worked.

"We've already lost her once, Faile," he found himself saying, "I couldn't…" Perrin trailed off.

"I know, my dearest," she replied softly, moving her hands to wrap herself around him. Light, but that made him feel better. He wrapped his arms around her, and held her firmly—gently, but firmly against him.

When Arryne had gone missing… It had taken every ounce of courage and strength to tell his wife… And she had remained strong. She had cried, when she thought Perrin was not around, or when she was sure he'd been sleeping. But Light above, she'd been strong. During those times, it was the need of his other two children, and her strength alone that kept him functioning.

"It was just a fox, Perrin," she continued, "The wheel. It enjoys playing tricks on us sometimes, yes? What better way to play a trick than to send a trickster to carry it out."

Perrin didn't mind the chuckle that escaped him, as a low rumble. He held her closer, simply enjoying the feeling of her _being_ there.

His peace was interrupted, by the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs. Arryne. Only she stomped around like that. He released his wife, and had the door open before his daughter had the time to knock.

The girl was grinning from ear to ear, cheeks flushed and taking in breaths by the gasp. Her dark wavy hair spilled out of the braid that Faile had made attempts at earlier in the day. She was, by all accounts, of marrying age, but her hair was stubborn and she'd not seemingly taken an interest in appeasing old traditions, or, for that matter, boys (_'Thank the _Light'). Her almost-too-close together eyes—eye, was excited. He felt a stab of guilt, taking in her left eye, which was as black as onyx—even where the whites should be—and without any emotion what-so-ever. It had been that way since she'd returned two years ago.

"Da! Ma!" Arryne exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels, "Tam's back!"

* * *

The dining hall filled with raucous laughter.

"And then, and _only_ when Arryne scruffed the poor thing and ran it outside, the maids finally felt safe enough to step down from their stools!" Olwrick finished, through snickers and guffaws. Another round of laughter filled the table.

Tam laughed heartily too, taking a swig of his famously brewed apple cider. He would never have admitted it aloud, but it felt good to sit down. His bones were getting tired, and more than his back were feeling the oncoming stiffness of old age. Which was why the man kept moving. He couldn't let himself get too comfortable. Old age was too easy to give in to.

And his chair was surprisingly comfortable, despite being constructed of a hard wood—likely from trees somewhere not far from here. That could be due to the deep red cushion that had been attached to it. The table and the chairs didn't quite match, but they complimented each other nicely. A fire burned cheerfully in the hearth, and lamps and candles were placed in all manner of locations to light the room warmly.

"Now that, lad, sounds like something you made up. Perrin, is this true?" asked Tam good naturedly, smiling broadly. Still, now, after everything, he smiled. The Last Battle had taken its toll on him… Losing Rand, and not a few friends to the Dark One's wrath. He still smiled.

"Well, Tam. I can't say it's not true," said Perrin bashfully—Sometimes even as a full adult, Tam could see the same boy who left with Rand all those years ago. "It must have been a sight, to say the least."

"I'm glad _I_ missed it," stuck in Perrin's youngest daughter, Chalinda. She was almost marrying age, barely into her fifteenth year. Dark ringlets fell down her back and either side of her face. Tam noted that she was easily the palest of the bunch, and the most petit in build, too. Perrin would have to keep a good walking stick near-by, for that one.

"It was just a fox, It wouldn't have hurt you," Arryne noted. Then added with a devilish grin, "Very much."

Light… Had so much time passed already? Tam took another drink of his cider. She was already on the cusp of adulthood.

There were nights that Tam still thought about that morning, discovering that the girl had gone missing. There had been few times that Tam ever truly regretted something. And that was one of them. Under his watchful eyes, she'd disappeared. And now, eight years later, she bore the scars for his mistakes.

To this day, no one other than presumably Perrin (and possibly Faile) knew where she'd gone to. No one said anything. Quite frankly, Tam wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Would it alleviate his guilt, or make it worse? No one would speak of it, the subject having become quite the touchy one in the years before, and following her return.

"Would that be alright?"

Tam had gotten lost in his thoughts. He grunted, having missed part of the conversation.

"I'm sorry? Lad, you'll have to speak up," He joked, "My ears are getting dimmer and dimmer."

"We were wondering if we could train with you, tomorrow." Olwrick asked again.

"I don't see too much of a problem with that, if Perrin has no use for the two of you."

"By no means," Perrin exclaimed, raising his hands and grinning, "They're all yours, Tam Al'Thor. They've been biting at the bit for the past two weeks." He paused, "That is, unless Faile had anything planned."

Tam burst out in laughter again, making the youngsters glance at each other in mild confusion. Perrin understood, and drank heavily from his cup. The corners of Faile's mouth were upturned.

* * *

Arryne tossed aside her blankets before crawling into bed. A cool breeze seeped in through the window, tickling her skin and raising the hair on her arms. It wasn't a bad feeling, and crawling into a cool bed relaxed her. Not too cold, mind. Then she'd have a hard time getting to sleep. But too warm and she'd be kicking blankets about in the night. But this… This was perfect. She settled in, wrapping herself up and burrowing into the bedding.

Anticipation rolled in her stomach (or perhaps it was due to overindulgence of good food), and her eyes, though closed, did not want to stop moving. She replayed the day's events in her mind, making notes of small details—such as the wrinkles on Olwrick's forehead due to an astonished expression upon entering to the afternoon's events.

See, details were important. It was the combination of hundreds of little details that made up a big picture; and if you forgot the details, then the big picture wouldn't mean as much. Those big pictures and the tiny details that made them up were the memories that she'd learn the value of.

Thoughts, images, and sounds danced around in her head, and Arryne wasn't aware of slipping out of consciousness. She was well into her slumber, snoring softly, when Perrin opened her door to peek in on her, ensuring her safety.


	3. 002 - Will or Won't

**Chapter Two:**

**Will or Won't**

Arryne hit the dark, grimy stone with a muffled thud. She was aware of cold rain pouring down around her, and soaking her bare skin; almost a relief to the white-hot fire that burned through her veins. Everything ached, and her head throbbed where she'd hit it landing. She was dreaming, she knew, but Light, it hurt. Her wrists had popped nastily when she'd tried to catch herself. The force of landing rattled her; her arms buckled beneath her and she rolled onto her side with an 'Oof!' The wetness of the stone chilled her naked form, and a few minutes passed before she tried to move.

Where was she?

Her vision swam, tears welling up in her eyes. Through the blur she distantly recognized that there were buildings on either side of her, both not ten paces away. Their shadows consumed her. She recognized something of a light passing by, and a man's laughter echoed into the alley way.

Breathing heavily, in short bursts, she tried once more to lift herself, and failed, collapsing again on the rough surface. Sharp pain shot through her forearms, and left her simpering. She shivered violently, unable to control the sudden onset of spasms. A haunted, broken whimper filled her ears. She barely recognized it as her own. Her whimpers melded into sobs, and her entire frame shook.

Her voice caught, and everything constricted. Her entire frame heaved as she coughed up violently. It kept going. Arryne was unable to draw breath, and she was getting light-headed. Then, something came up. Something with a metallic taste. She spit it out, weakly, blackened spittle clinging to her lips.

The rain kept coming.

"Help…" Arryne croaked, sending herself into another coughing fit. She lay silently, for some time afterwards, drained. She still shivered, but the heat in her body was starting to ebb away.

"Help," she tried again, pausing to take a deep, gasping breath, "Help…. I'm… Here… Help..."

The only comfort she got was the rumbling from the black storm overhead.

* * *

Arryne crept silently, sword drawn and at the ready. She knew she wouldn't need it, but it was nice to feel it in her hand. She wasn't ungrateful for the birds chirping back and forth overhead, covering any noise that her cloak made brushing against a branch here or there. It was thick and the color of a healthy, dark moss—good for gallivanting about a wooded area. Her boots made little, if any, noise in the brush below, her feet naturally seeking out spots cleared of twigs or dried leaves. She'd chosen her best boots today—the most accommodating to her feet, and the most flexible. Perhaps the most worn, but that's what made them comfortable.

She'd, in unnecessary haste, donned the shirt from yesterday. She'd woken up in a foul mood of sorts, and had wanted to escape the confines of her room quickly. She'd put clean trousers on though, opting for something a tad more form-fitting. That was something.

She was on her way to the usual spot. A nook set back on the eastern edge of her property that had been, for the most part, cleared. Arryne wasn't sure why she'd taken the longer way around—creeping alongside of the western side of the property and slipping into wood cover (doing that would add almost an entire hour to her journey)—when simply striding across the eastern field would have been much quicker. She had ample time though. The sun was still fairly low, yet, and her brother's snores had filled the hallways on her way out.

She played her game, along the way. It was more difficult weaving through branches and leaves, rather than clearly defined persons. Branches, trunks, and leaves would make more noise, comparatively, if she misjudged. However, the forest did not move around, or carry awkward objects. Nor, did forests glare you down if you miss-stepped.

She would occasionally swing her cloak in around her, tucking it in to keep from snagging on anything. A snag wouldn't entrap her, but it would make noise. That would break the rules. She ducked, and twisted to avoid low-hanging branches or leaves that stuck out into her self-proclaimed path. More than once, she'd spin a full circle whilst avoiding one thing or another. It brought her peace.

The dream from the night before was disturbing, but something that she'd dreamed of before. Every time it came to her, she'd awaken feeling cold on the inside. Oh, she'd cried, when it first began; The first time she had that dream. But not anymore. While it was not a frequent dream, it was one that she'd distinctly remembered having before—though always unable to pinpoint exactly where or when.

In truth, perhaps that was why she'd taken the long way. She could have made straight for Tam's designated location to begin stretching and practicing balance, and forms. But Arryne needed to play. She needed the time to clear her mind and focus on nothing but avoiding objects that could not hurt her.

Over time, she became warm, and her muscles lithe. She hopped onto a thick mossy log that white fungus had begun growing out of, pivoted on one foot, then came down on the other side smoothly. She was to change her direction. She'd gone south for a while yet, and suspected that making a eastern turn would be in order.

A wind passed through the underbrush, causing her to halt in the moment. The strong scent of earth greeted her, and tickled at her nostrils. Arryne closed her eyes, shrugging her cloak back to embrace the morning chill. The summer sun hadn't yet started to heat the remnants of the evening chill. She could feel dappled rays of sunlight seep through the canopy overhead. Leaves rustled and a few branches creaked, swaying. When the breeze finally died down, she opened her eyes again. This, too, would make a nice memory.

She sauntered forward again, moving quickly, and stepping lighter. A relieved sort of smile found its way to her lips. She felt at better ease, and still wanted to make it there before either of the boys did.

* * *

Olwrick hefted his stiff leather satchel that contained his training gear (and Arryne's, who'd rushed off in the morning without letting anyone know) over his shoulder with a grunt. It tightened his shirt comfortably around his neck, and he had to pause to readjust.

"Leaving already?" asked Perrin, from behind him.

Olwrick contained a start, masking his face with an easy-going grin. That grin had gotten him out of parental retribution more times than he had hairs on his head. He adjusted his bag once more, and replied, "Yeah. Arryne's already out there, I suspect. I grabbed her gear for her." He wriggled the bag a bit, making the wooden training swords shift around inside.

Perrin nodded approvingly, closing the distance between the two in only a few strides. Light, but his father had the walk of a leader; even when he was in the home, or wiping away tears from his daughters face. He had an aura that said 'I know what needs to be done, and I'm going to see it through'. Olwrick tried, with difficulty, to imitate it. With footprints so large, it was more than a challenge to follow them.

"Your mother had them prepare a basket, for you two. Have you eaten?" He asked.

Olwrick shook his head, and offered a shrug. Food had been the last thing on his mind. He'd been mildly ruffled that Arryne had escaped the house first, before he'd even crawled out of his bed.

"I'll have someone bring it to you, then," Perrin said, then after a short pause added, "After you've been at it for a few hours."

That was good. His father already knew how he could be. Olwrick had a one-track mind, when it came to the sword. While the interruption wouldn't necessarily be appreciated, it'd make him feel better to have worked up an appetite before stuffing his stomach full of food.

"Thanks, Da," Olwrick said,

"Don't wear yourself out too much," Perrin noted, "Faile wants to take you and your sister to get measured for more clothes." He seemed a bit disgruntled by this. "More new clothes… Burn me. But you guys grow faster than weeds in a wheat field."

"Well, that _is_ what people do, Da. They grow," he laughed, then said, "Have you talked with Master Luhnin yet, about that sword?"

"I did. It will be ready by this afternoon," Perrin said, brows furrowing. "I glanced over the blade myself. It has good form. Good craftsmanship, that one." A pause, "Don't get too attached to the blade, Son," he added, "It can drive a man to do bad things."

Olwrick had heard this line over and over again, growing up. From his father, and from Tam. He knew not to get too excited about fighting—hurting something or someone was never a thing to look forward to. But the adrenaline… The rush. The feeling of knowing that he was stronger than someone else…

"I know, Da. I know. But I can't let Arryne get _too_ full of herself. She's already bested me twice," he joked, making light of it—as he always did. The conversation fell quiet after that, Perrin having looked like he'd wanted to say something, but held back. Finally, he clapped Olwrick on the shoulder with a grunt.

"Be safe. Be home in a few hours," he said, and strode away looking thoughtful.

Olwrick left his questions unsaid, and made a bee-line for Arryne.

* * *

The truth was, Perrin had wanted to craft the blade himself. Had he been able to make time for it, he would have. Unfortunately, being Lord of the Two Rivers occupied most, if not all, of his time. Any spare time that he had, he used it spending time with his children. The blade Luhnin had crafted was a fine one, but Perrin could have certainly added a few extra adornments. Granted, the boy didn't need anything _too_ fancy.

Light, but his children were growing up fast. Had his own father felt the same way about him? The older that Perrin got, the faster his children seemed to grow. Olwrick was nearly Perrin's height, and just as broad in the shoulders as himself. He'd already had to start shaving every other day. Had Perrin been as imposing as Olwrick was at that age?

Perrin had to keep a wary eye on him. He'd taken nobility to the head, strutting around with that grin of his. More than one good apples had gone sour that way. He seemed to embrace born nobility as easily as a blacksmith to his hammer.

Chalinda… She was turning into a fine young lady. She spent most of her time with Faile, learning the subtleties of being a noblewoman. The lass spent the majority of her time at her mother's heels, learning to imitate calm expressions, commanding but reconciling tones, and perhaps the most important, getting to know her people.

She was young, yet; the youngest of his dear children. She probably resembled her mother the most of the three of them. Dark hair, and an angular face. She was lean, borderline wiry just as Faile had been when they'd first met. She carried herself well, her posture straight but without giving the impression that she was gazing down her hooked nose at people. However she seemed… Distant. Reliant, even. She rarely took initiative to do anything without either asking, or being told.

Overall, Perrin was proud of the two. Proud that they'd stepped into their roles without egos that would put Matrim to shame. He'd done his best to stomp out spoiled behaviors when they were much younger—engraving in them the values of hard work and simple tastes. Well… Perhaps he still had to work on them a bit with that last one. Every time he turned around, they requested a touch more embroidery or lace to their coats or dresses.

Arryne however, though he'd spent the least time with her, was probably the closest to him in thought and presence. She was simple at heart and Perrin wasn't oblivious that she'd taken ample of her brothers old outfits despite the near constant pressure from Faile to get things that were more appropriate. Perrin himself had inquired on her unusual tastes, and had only received a grin and the reassurance that she was comfortable, and therefore more useful in her endeavors.

He worried over the girl. Perhaps more than he should. He contributed that to the sudden disappearance, and how she's returned to him. She'd grown so much in that time away. It bothered him. He should have been there. He should have gone after her… How different would she have been if she'd never gotten ensnared?

'_No point in thinking about _what-ifs_ Perrin._' He told himself, settling down behind the dark, engraved desk that Faile had placed in a room that she designated for his paperwork. He glanced down at a stack of papers, sighing. It never ended.

* * *

Olwrick approached, and his sister took no time to break her stances to greet him. She was working on balancing, sword outstretched over her head, slipping from one form to another. She interchanged hands often, smoothly rotating hand over hand on its hilt. Her cloak had been tossed aside on the ground near-by, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up past the elbows. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her expression serene.

He felt only a little bit guilty as he bent down, plucked a small twig from the grass below him, and chucked it towards her face.

It struck, and her concentration shattered. Her sword nearly tumbled from her hands, as she jerked back, eyes widening and mouth forming into a surprised 'O'. Olwrick burst into laughter, dropping the leather bag from his shoulder with a clatter, and clutching at his sides.

"Oh Light!" He gasped between laughs, "That expression. It was priceless!"

She stared blankly at him for a few moments, as if she were going over a list of responses in her mind that would be suitable. Olwrick held his grin, willing her to take it in a good way. More often than not, the girl had the sense of humor of a tea-spoon. Finally after a few moments a reaction seemed to click into place, and she dropped her sword arm and laughed with him.

"Blood and bloody ashes!" she exclaimed, "That scared me half to death, Olwrick! Don't _do_ that! I could have lopped your head off!"

"With that kind of reaction?" he prodded, "Yeah, right. You would have been offed in an instant"

"I wouldn't have reacted that way if I didn't know it you!" she said defensively. "I saw you approach. But I didn't think you were going to start assaulting me with nature. You could have just said, 'Hi. Hello. Great to see you out here, already."

"Oh calm down. No need to get your trousers in a twist," said Olwrick casually. Women's moods were all insufferable. One minute they'd be glad to see you, and the next they were ready to tell you ten different things about yourself that they deemed that you didn't know. His sister might be emotionally incompetent, but she was no different than any other woman in that aspect at least. "It's not like I chucked a rock at you or anything."

She grumbled intelligibly in response, raising her sword, and shifting into her stances again.

"Arryne, I'm getting a new sword today."

"Oh? That's nifty." She turned her head to look at him, maintaining poise. Her arms and legs continued to work, "What are you going to do with your old one?"

Olwrick had to think about that for a minute. "I don't know," he said finally.

"Can I have it?"

"But you already have a sword," he said, bending down to dig out the wooden training swords from the satchel he'd brought along.

"So do you," she pointed out dryly, "Besides. I know how to use two at once."

"You do?" Olwrick asked, doubtful. He stood straight, a wooden blade in each hand.

"Yup. Ma taught me," said she, pivoting on her heel, swinging her arm across her torso, and into what would be a strike against an invisible foe.

That was news to Olwrick. He certainly hadn't been taught anything of the sort. Tam had overseen his training since he was old enough to pick up a training blade. Those girls were spoiled rotten, if you asked him.

"Does Chalinda know how?"

"Kind of. She knows the basics, at least."

_'Yup_,' Olwrick thought. '_Definitely spoiled rotten._'

"Here," he said, getting an idea into his head. He held both of the wooden blades out to her, "Let me see."

* * *

"I haven't really worked with two swords," Arryne admitted, sheathing her steel blade, "I've only worked with daggers."

"There's not much of a difference, is there?" her brother replied.

Arryne shook her head. Boys could be dense. Of course there was a difference. How one held it, the weight, the balance… Despite his endearment to the blade, he certainly had a lot to learn of them. Her mother hadn't taught her that. No one had. It was something that she just _knew_.

"Daggers are mostly used for stabbing. Swords are for slashing." She reached for the training swords.

"Ah-ah!" Olwrick pulled back, turning so that they were just beyond her grasp. "So you _can't_ use them both?"

Arryne felt a mild stab of annoyance. '_Boys._' She slid towards him, very similarly to how she'd slip through a small space in a crowd, and snatched them from his grasp. She'd show him. They weren't _that_ different.

She took a few steps away from him—in case he'd try snatching them away from her—and adjusted her grip on each. Nervousness at performing with both sat in her stomach uncomfortably. If she messed up and made a fool of herself, Olwrick wouldn't let her live it down. His opinion didn't necessarily matter… but…

She took a deep breath. Tam had once taught them of an archer's trick that he'd apparently, at some point, taught all of his apprentices. The flame, and the Void. Arryne took another deep breath, and emptied her thoughts, pouring them into a single flame. That flame surged, and sparked brighter, flickering as it consumed her anxiety. She became calm, and almost entranced.

Her arms raised on their own—the wooden swords becoming a part of her. They were an extension of self. They were light, and she flicked her wrists a few times each, to better gain a feel for their balance that was otherwise distributed amongst two hands.

Then, she slid into motion.

Her arms adjusted the stances normally used for one sword, for two. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her arms—her swords—crossing and twisting about each other. _Kissing the Adder._ Sharp, short strikes that would unarm a man too close. _Twin Moons Rise over the Water._ An adapted version of _Moon Rises over the Water—_a simple slashing movement._ Cat Dances on the Wall_—a strike intended to sweep a man from a standing position. The motions simply _came_ to her. She pivoted, swinging both blades down on either side, then spinning, rose from bended knees into a slashing motion that allowed the other arm—the other sword—to defend her torso.

She kept herself moving. That was part of the technique. Always keep moving. If you stopped, you could leave yourself open. You could get yourself stabbed—or killed. Momentum was the key. That was why Faile taught her. A woman could not depend on brute strength. She must use her other abilities to compensate for that.

Her arms moved like liquid, and she let them lead the way. It wasn't until Tam's voice came from somewhere nearby, that the void shook.

Arryne halted, mid-stance, the void shattering. She blinked a few times, becoming suddenly aware that her eyes were quite dry. She hadn't blinked in some time. The rest of the world came back to her, the entranced feeling ebbing away. When had her breaths started coming out so rugged? She turned.

Olwrick sat in the grass, leaning forward on crossed knees. He seemed intrigued. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his mouth was set in a deep frown of concentration. Tam looked thoughtful. The lines on his face accented the pensive look. His hand stroked at his chin, pinched between his forefinger and thumb, absently.

"Sorry," Arryne panted, raising her hand to wipe sweat from her brow. When had that happened? "I didn't hear that."

"That wasn't something I taught you. You looked as cozy with those two blades as an Aiel does with a spear," said Tam, nodding to himself. "Not bad, Lass. Not bad, at all."

Olwrick suddenly looked up sharply then, his concentration breaking. His facial expression changed to something Arryne couldn't quite place. He lumbered to his feet.

"I hope you didn't use up all of your energy."

"Of course not, Tam. And Olwrick didn't budge an inch!" said Arryne lightly, regaining her breath. Olwrick looked as if to protest.

"Good." Tam interrupted, "You two will be sparring today."

* * *

The afternoon sun bore down from overhead, casting shadows just barely from underneath them Olwrick and Arryne both faced each other, hands on their knees, panting. Sweat dripped from their brows and clung to their hair. Not shortly after they'd begun, Olwrick had discarded his shirt, and tossed it next to Arryne's crumpled cloak. He gleamed in the light and his arms quivered.

Arryne was envious. Her shirt clung to her and had cost her a few stances (which would be later marked by bruises) by tugging at her skin uncomfortably. In the afternoon heat, she certainly wouldn't have minded being able to toss her own shirt to the side.

Midday had long since come and gone. A serving man had approached the field timidly, and left a basket of goodies. Tam, who half-sat, leaning against the trunk of a tree in shade, had picked it up, informing them that they wouldn't be eating until they finished. Arryne's stomach rumbled loudly, and she gazed longingly at it.

"Alright you two," Tam said, eyeing her, "You've done well. Get some drink, some shade, and some food."

Arryne grinned at Olwrick, who had let out a large, guttural sound of relief and thrust his free first into the air. The both of them, Arryne waving her free hand in hopes to cool her cheeks, sauntered to Tam's spot beneath the shade. Immediately, the difference in temperature became apparent, and she flopped into the grass heavily. Light blessed that it was cooler under here. Now all there needed to be was a good breeze…

Her brother seemed to have similar thoughts. He drank from a waterskin he'd plucked from the basket deeply. Arryne reached her hand out, expecting—rather hoping, really—for him to share. Olwrick merely glanced down, and with waggling brows and a devilish grin, poured what she assumed to be the last of it over his head.

Tam clicked his tongue disapprovingly, but the upturned corners of his mouth betrayed him.

"You milk drinker!" Arryne complained, wrinkling her nose and stretching out for the basket.

"Hey now! I was going to share. There's still some left. Now you can get your own."

Arryne groaned.

"Oh, and Ma wants us to go to market with her, today," he added.

"When?" she asked.

"When we're done training," he shrugged, "Chalinda's getting new measurements and I'm picking up my new blade."

"Well," said Tam, who hadn't moved from his spot against the tree, "We're pretty much finished for the day. Your mother informed me of her plans last night. I fear you two may be a bit late as is."

"So eat up," he continued, "and head back. We'll continue around the same time tomorrow."

* * *

Chalinda grunted unintelligibly when servants knocked at her door. She was still in bed, yet. She refused to remove her blankets. Sometime in the morning, she'd suddenly awoken, feeling quite ill. She'd dry-heaved a few times before clambering back into bed. Her head still throbbed, her stomach rolled, and she felt like death itself.

Sunlight poured in through the open windows, and her room felt sweltering hot. She was sweating. She hated sweating. Without opening her eyes, she clutched her pillow—one that had been tossed aside some time in the night—and pressed it against her face. Maybe she could just smother herself. Sweat be burned, she wasn't going to remove those blankets.

Another knock came again, this time much sharper. That was her mother's knock. In fact, it was her mother's '_you should have been up hours ago' _knock.

"Chalinda," came Faile's deep voice, "I'm coming in."

Of course. No need for permission or anything. Chalinda grunted again.

The door swung open, and a few maids tailed her mother in, sweeping back any remaining closed curtains and placed a tray on the table with a soft clatter. The noise caused Chalinda's head to pound unpleasantly, but she kept her mouth closed.

"Are you ill?" her mother asked plainly.

Chalinda finally pulled the pillow from her face, opening her eyes to a thin squint. The midday sun filled her room and made her dizzy.

"I'm not feeling the best," she admitted, "But I expect after some breakfast and a spot of tea, that I'd be fine."

"Lunch," she corrected dryly, then with a softer tone, "It's past noon, dearest daughter. Are you sure you will be able to go out? Perrin wishes you to rest."

So they knew she'd been ill already. Ah well. That was too bad. She would be going to get that new dress today anyway, even if Father didn't want to buy it, and even if she felt like dung. She'd been very specific in ordering it, and it would look wonderful on her newly developing bosom. She hadn't needed it for any particular event, or anything. But a girl who was nearing marrying age had to look sharp.

"I promise, mother. I'll be alright," she reassured, forcing herself to sit up without a wince, "I just needed a bit of extra rest."

Her mother nodded, seeming satisfied.

"It is good that you can convince yourself and another at a same time," she said, turning to leave, "That skill is a useful one. One I have used many times. Eat."

Chalinda made a facial expression at her mother's back that she was sure was somewhere between a smile and a grimace. She really couldn't get a _thing_ past the woman. She tossed back her blankets, donned a light robe that wouldn't roast her half to death, and settled down at a small table near the window with the best view to eat.

She _really_ didn't want to. The thought of cramming bread and cheese down her throat left her nauseated. However, she knew very well that her mother would hear of it if she didn't at least make a good attempt at it. For a few moments she stared down at it, before plucking a piece of buttered bread and taking a nibble.

Ugh. Food.

Maybe the tea would be better.

* * *

Getting dressed was almost torture. A torture well worth it, at least. Chalinda admired herself in the full-length mirror that had been adorned to her wardrobe. The dress she'd picked out was light-weight, pale green and flared at the sleeves in dainty lace-like embroidery. The neck-line wasn't as low as she would have liked, but it suited well to accent her thin neck. More embroidery went up the bodice, and around her ribs. She also wore a silver belt around her waist, like a chain but with wider, thinner links. Attached to that belt was a small, black, leather purse. It jingled cheerfully.

Chalinda took a deep breath, running her hands down her stomach, willing it to stop churning. The food hadn't set well and she looked a bit pale, by her judgment, in the mirror. She'd pulled up her curls into a knot, a lock or two falling down pleasantly. Hopefully that would keep her from dying of heat exhaustion. Steeling herself with another deep breath, she put on a pleasant smile and sought her mother out.

She came down the stairs the same time that her older brother and sister stomped through the door, reeking of sweat and dirt. Olwrick carried a large, heavy looking bag across his shoulders, and Arryne had a wooden sword balanced on hers, arms wrapped around with her hands hanging limply. They were both laughing. That laughter came to an uneasy halt when the noticed her.

"Dressed up already?" asked Olwrick, passing the bag to a servant who nearly stumbled under the weight of it. Arryne whistled through her teeth. While it was inappropriate for a woman to react to another that way, Chalinda felt her confidence strengthen. Olwrick paused for a moment, drinking deeply from the waterskin that'd been at his hip, then asked, "We aren't late, are we?"

"Not quite," said Chalinda, making her way down the stairs slowly. Her head still reeled. She tried to pass it off as her being dramatic, if not elegant, "But you'd best get ready quickly." It was best they didn't know she'd only just gotten out of bed, herself.

Arryne didn't said nothing, but instead made for the stairs, tossing her wooden blade at Olwrick who caught it easily. She took them two at a time, making Chalinda press herself against the hand-rail, for worry that she'd been run barreled into. Instead, somehow, Arryne pressed herself against the opposite wall, and slid past her with naught but a breeze to indicate that she'd been there.

Olwrick laughed at her, and Chalinda felt her cheeks burn.

"Stuff it," she mumbled, coming down the stairs at a faster pace.

Olwrick snickered again shaking his head, and followed after Arryne.

Chalinda watched after them a moment, before making her way towards her mother's study, which was located off of the eastern wall of the greeting-foyer. When she entered, her mother was standing, bent over a stack of papers with a few other people chattering quietly amongst themselves. Luckily, there were unused chairs in the corner that Chalinda made herself comfortable in. It was a relief to be sitting.

Finally, Faile seemed to notice her daughters entrance, and nodded towards her. This made the others turn towards her, with smiles and cheerful greetings. She placated them by nodding at each in turn, and indicated her apologies for interrupting. Faile, from behind the other's turned backs nodded again in approval.

While they went back to their conversation—which Chalinda wasn't incredibly interested in—she allowed her thoughts to wander. She wondered, idly, what her siblings had been laughing at, and why she hadn't been included in the joke.

Her head throbbed unpleasantly and she forced herself to sit up a bit straighter, and pretended to take interest in what was going on around her.

Before, she'd been more than a little irritated in being left out in sword-training. Her mother had taught both Arryne and herself how to wield a dagger in each hand, should the need arrive to protect oneself, but only Arryne had been chosen to train with her brother, and Tam. Light, the girl wouldn't even wear a dress!

She'd received special treatment of sorts, since her disappearance, years ago. That had been when Chalinda was nine. She remembered waking up one morning, and everything seeming… off. Servants had been quiet, and her parents as silent as the grave. They'd refused to tell them what had happened, or where Arryne had gone. When she'd finally returned in the middle of the night six years later, she was practically catatonic—never speaking and jumping at every little noise. She'd stared at the world as if it were her first time seeing it. Always looking confused. Everyone had assumed that she'd hit her head and became a bit touched, or something. It took months for her to recover.

So she'd gotten to do as she wished, for the most part. Which, incidentally, didn't include anything revolving responsibility or maintaining the family name. Chalinda sniffed, thinking about it—then remembering she was in company, covered it up with a light cough and a wrinkle of the nose. Let them think it was sinuses.

In the end, Chalinda had taken up the roll of becoming the Lady that would eventually take over, on behalf of her mother. She'd been learning the art of minor court for years, even before Arryne's return from… From wherever she went. She found that it wasn't too terrible, and even though she was the youngest of the children, people had in the past come to her to settle a minor dispute or two.

Finally, the people who had been conversing quietly with her mother stood straight, and made their goodbyes. A few bowed lightly at her on their way out. Chalinda responded with another flashy smile and a nod of the head. She was getting better at ignoring the throbs.

She didn't move from the spot that she'd claimed, even after the room cleared, leaving no one but her and her mother; who still stood behind the desk, gazing down at the papers that she'd been going over. Her dark brows were furrowed, and she seemed troubled. Finally, she looked up and gestured for Chalinda to come over.

Chalinda suppressed a groan, clenching her jaw against the headache and hefted herself out of the chair—attempting to maintain some premise of grace. She stood next to Faile, and bent over the papers, using her arms to support her balance.

The paper described a motion to set in place a redistribution in property lines for a few land-owners. She'd heard of these people before, recognizing the names. They'd bickered back and forth not a few times while in her parents' court—each on the border of whining and full-on arguments. They were, for a lack of better words, a hassle and a half.

"What do you think, Chalinda?" Faile asked softly.

"I think they're a bunch of light-blinded fools," she replied flatly. That earned a frown. "Otherwise, I think that he," Chalinda pointed to a name on the paper, "is asking for too much. If he has his way, there'd be no water on the other side of the property line. I say split in half, or divide out sections of the creek to them both, and leave a neutral ground of sorts. Though that might present a problem in the future…"

Chalinda thought for a moment. People were fickle, and often found reasons to argue when there were none.

"You could take the issue out altogether, and give neither of them the creek," she finally said.

"That's an idea," replied Faile absently, finally standing straight again. She rounded the desk to, Chalinda presumed, pace. Chalinda continued to stare down at the paperwork before her with new interest. Would that affect their agriculture too much? If neither of them had a water supply… Suddenly, she had an idea.

"What if they both got the creek? I mean. What if they diminished the property line altogether? And went in as partners?" She looked up, "that would eliminate the problem and make their business—" She went quiet, cheeks burning.

Her father had entered the room without Chalinda noticing, and was holding her mother close to him. His arms were around her snugly, though he towered over her. He was whispering something in her ear. Chalinda suddenly felt abashed, as if it were her that had stepped into the room at an untimely moment, and interrupted an intimate hug.

As if sensing her thoughts, Perrin released her, and Faile turned and said, "Now _that's_ an even better idea."

"Already handling property disputes?" Perrin shook his head. "Light, you kids…"

Chalinda felt pride spring into her. They were impressed. '_Good_,' she thought. She'd definitely earned that dress she was going to get today, then. She stood up a bit straighter, and regained some of the posture she'd lost while deep in thought, willing the discomfort in her head and stomach to disengage. She gave them one of her best smiles.

"Chalinda," said Faile, "You will leave us to talk for a time. I will send for you when we are ready to leave."

Chalinda's smile vanished, but she did not argue. Arguing was something that simply was not done with her mother. Her father would allow a bit of lip now and then, but her mother had none of it. She offered a light curtsy before leaving the room. In her small way, it was an act of defiance. '_I'm leaving_' it said, '_but I'm not happy about it_.'

They closed the door after her, leaving a small crack. She bit back her curiosity and forced herself to cross the foyer. Olwrick was bounding down the stairs, adjusting the cuff to one of his finer shirts. He offered one of his grins to her, then, noticing her expression asked, "What's that face for?"

"Mother is talking with father," she said slowly. She wanted to know what they were up to. Did it involve her? Or any of her siblings? Had it anything to do with the suggestions that her mother had asked for? Would she be rewarded for those suggestions?

Olwrick wrinkled his nose. "Okay…?"

"She asked me to leave. I'm curious," said Chalinda.

Olwrick looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. He placed a finger at his lips. Chalinda's mask of calm and poise dropped another moment, and she forgot about the pain in her stomach and head. Was he going to _spy_ on them? He started to tip-toe towards her mother's study.

"They'll hear you!" She hissed, trying to grab his arm.

"Not if you don't tag along with those heels of yours," he whispered, barely audible. He shooed her away with a hand gesture. Chalinda could have spat. The fool was going to get them both into trouble. She took a few tentative steps back towards the stairs, contemplating disappearing elsewhere for a time. She didn't want to get in trouble when he got caught.

'_Idiot,_' she thought. He moved silently, though. Training with Tam must have done that to him. Despite his spoiled dress, he could sneak around like any skilled woodsman. He crouched low, and somehow, his clothing made no noise when he took steps.

'_I hear them,'_ he mouthed, and crouched near the wall, close to the door. Olwrick hovered there for a while, his face going through a variety of expressions. However, not long after he'd set up his post, he came creeping back towards where Chalinda had crouched.

She straightened, chastising herself on doing so. She hadn't noticed that she'd done it. It must have been the secretive nature that had done it to her. She gestured for him to follow her, and made, being as quiet as she could, for the kitchens.

"Well?" she demanded, as soon as they cleared the entry way. A few servants looked up startled, and she waved them away. Olwrick gave her a look that said '_Don't push me. I _am_ your older brother_._'_ Perhaps Chalinda had been a bit too sharp. She grumbled, and muttered a half-hearted apology. Light, but the man was too sensitive.

"They were talking about us," he said.

"All of us?" She interrupted.

"Yes." He continued flatly, "They were talking about our inheritance. Who is going to be named officially as their first choice as successor."

That made Chalinda's mind spring into a whirlwind of thoughts. They were thinking about that already? Were one of them ill? They weren't going to split the Two Rivers, were they? _Surely_ Chalinda was their first choice, no?

"Some of it I couldn't hear. They were speaking really low," Olwrick went on, "but it's definitely clear that we're the top two choices."

"And Arryne?" asked Chalinda.

"They really didn't mention her. That's why I'm assuming that we're the top choices."

"I see…"

The two stood, huddled in silence. Her head and stomachache suddenly seemed small in comparison to the thought of _not_ being her parents' first choice as a successor. That worried her. She'd certainly have to put in more of an effort—perhaps develop some sort of trade-skill that would show her parents that she could, and would, take initiative.

"What are _you two_ up to?"

Chalinda jumped. Her embarrassment was subsided in knowing that she hadn't been the only one. Arryne had snuck up silently behind the two, hair pulled up in a messy (as usual) pony. At least, she'd changed her clothes, donning a fresh tunic and wide, billowing trousers and the a different pair of boots. They didn't shine, but they weren't caked in mud.

"Talking. Before we were interrupted," Chalinda said pointedly. She eyed Arryne crossly, who seemed confused.

"You guys were just standing around quietly," she contradicted, "Come on now. I'm trustworthy! You can tell me." She tried to smile the way her brother did, and failed. It came off as desperate. Light, for someone who was older, she could act like a child.

"I'll tell you later," said Olwrick, looking troubled, "Miss prissy-bottom might not want to share, right now."

Chalinda hissed through her teeth, and slapped at his arm harshly. He barely winced, only irritating her further.

* * *

Perrin waited to hear his son's and daughter's receding footsteps before looking at Faile with a triumphant smile. His plan had gone exactly the way he'd intended. Now, all he had to do was to wait, and see how it would play out.

"Husband," Faile said, looking confused, "You know Olwrick was outside, listening in…" She left the last part unsaid. Why, then, had he held such an important conversation?

"I wanted him to hear," he said simply, leaning back in the chair behind Faile's desk. Hers was definitely more comfortable than his own.

"I see…" she said softly, making the connection. "If he shares what he has learned, then he has honorable intentions. If he does not, then he is not yet ready."

"Exactly," said Perrin, enthusiastically. "Either he will, or he won't. Either or, it will speak volumes of his character."

"Dear husband," said Faile, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek, "That was simply _devious_."


	4. 003 - Making Clarity

**Chapter Three:**

**Making Clarity**

Arryne and the majority of her family strode through the busy roads of the Two Rivers. All around people laughed, yelled, sold, bought and more. The turning-into-a-City was thriving. Men in all manner of clothes and boots weaved in and out of each other, some politely letting others by, and others shoving into one another, yelling obscenities. More than one woman carried a parasol against the just-after-midday sun. Arryne had to stop herself from taking part in her usual game of keep-away. Faile surely wouldn't think much of it.

They hadn't bothered in taking a carriage, most of the shops they'd intended to visit being within a reasonable walking distance. Chalinda hadn't been incredibly thrilled at that, and seemed to regret her choice in shoes; which were by all accounts tasteful, the light colors flattering her dress nicely; but seemed impractical due to higher heels. Every once in a while she would scowl down at the road in front of her, swearing under her breath. Arryne inwardly shook her head, grateful for her own decision to wear practical, flat-bottomed boots. Boots that were good for walking in.

However, boots were not the only thing on her mind. After the encounter in the kitchens with her siblings, Arryne had been left with more than a few unanswered questions. Why had Olwrick insisted on telling her later? Was there something that Chalinda had been hiding? Light, but the two seemed too grown up for their age. The both of them had already practically mastered the art of walking a conversation in circles as well as any nobility.

Someone called out to them from somewhere behind them, pulling Arryne from her thoughts. The lot of them turned, squinting in the sun to identify where and from whom the voice had originated from. A youth in a thick, leather apron with pockets layered all over the thing, no more past his seventeenth name-day than Arryne was, waved his gloved hands at them. He had brown, shaggy hair and a lopsided grin. His ears were too big for his head, and stuck out awkwardly. He was lengthy, and seemed so thin that a good breeze could push him over. Arryne knew his name… But couldn't quite place it.

"Gearald!" cried Olwrick cheerfully, rushing over to clap the guy on the back. Olwrick was younger, but towered over him much as he did everyone else. They chatted for a moment, leaving Arryne and the rest to stand idly in the road, then, after a few moments called, "I'll catch up!"

Faile ushered the other two girls along with firm hands on their backs.

"We've a lot to get done today," she said.

Arryne groaned softly. She was not much of a clothing type person, and this trip was really more about Chalinda than her anyway. She wished she could have slipped off as easily as Olwrick had.

"None of that," said Faile sharply, "You're getting fitted for new shirts and breeches."

Arryne groaned again.

"You look like a ruffian," she chided, "its high time you get clothes on your backside that actually fit. I'm willing to compromise. I don't burn everything in your wardrobe in exchange for you getting some clothes that do your figure some good." Arryne suddenly felt five years old again, and wanted to give her younger sister a good kick in the backside for nodding in agreement.

"You're a beautiful young lady, and why you insist on dressing like a stable-boy confounds me. But if you're going to dress like a stable-boy, you're going to dress like a stable-boy who has some good tastes…"

Her mother's rant continued all the way to the shop, where she cut off sharply when the man behind the counter greeted them with a smile. He was a homely fellow, with white hair and a bald spot that encompassed most of his scalp. He had quite a bit of stomach, too. Arryne knew him to be a friendly man, though. Patient too. One had to be, when dealing with her Sister—moreover, her mother.

Arryne sulked near the door, contemplating a quiet escape while her mother made the arrangements to have her measured. She leaned, lazily, against the wall with a sour expression. Honestly, Arryne didn't remember having ever been measured. The thought of the old man's hands wrapping a measuring-rope around her didn't please her one bit.

Finally, they came to an agreement and he called towards the back of the shop. A lass with a large bosom, round face, and thick lips shaped into a practiced smile came swaying from one of the back rooms. She seemed strained, and the heat was obviously getting to her. No wonder, with the layers of various types and colors of material that she had over her shoulders like a stack of scarves.

She must have assumed that Chalinda was to be measured, for she beckoned the other girl to follow. Laughing daintily, Chalinda shook her head, pointed, and said, "Not me today, Chera. Arryne."

"My apologies Miss!" she exclaimed, managing to look both surprised and bashful at the same time, "Right this way, err… Arryne."

Inwardly, Arryne groaned again.

* * *

"So you're getting a new blade already?"

"I am," laughed Olwrick.

"Light, mate. Every other month it seems, you get a new one," said Gearald, shaking his head incredulously.

The two of them had made their way off of the main street, and into Gearald's father's leather-goods shop. The place smelled pleasantly of polish and wax—like fresh leather. It was a nice smell, to Olwrick, who as a younger boy spent a good portion of his free time here with Gearald. Bags, belts, straps, harnesses and not a few unfinished saddles were lined up against either side of the small space on painted-wooden stands. The floor was kept clean and well swept, and the bar-like table up front (a place for greeting customers) was kept organized by his father's tedious hands. Gearald leaned on that table, sitting on a high-legged stool behind it. Olwrick stood on the other side.

Gearald hadn't come from a family like Olwrick's. His father was an artisan, and his mother a baker of sorts. The both of them worked hard for what they had, and often had not much to spare. Any time the two had snuck out for a bit of fun, it was often Olwrick who took care of any tab that they'd accumulated. But it made for good stock; Gearald was honest and straightforward. Trustworthy.

"Come now, that's not fair. It's not _that_ often. I give it at least a few months before I trade in," he protested lightheartedly, "Besides. It's not like I'm going about it _too_ selfishly this time. I'm giving this blade to Arryne." He tapped the sheathed blade at his side.

"Really, now?" Gearald seemed to perk up at that, his eyes shining in a way that suggested he was a bit too interested in his older sister than was really necessary. "What is she going to do with the blade she has?"

"She's going to use them both, most likely. During training earlier today… Light, Gearald. You should have seen it. She knew what she was doing with both of 'em," admitted Olwrick. He could give credit where it was most definitely due. The girl had a knack for the blade. He'd have to get better.

"What is she going to do? Wear one on each hip?" asked Gearald, squinting up his freckle-ridden face. "That seems a bit… Awkward, don't you think?"

"Light, man! I haven't thought about it _that_ much. It's none of my concern what she does with the bloody things," he paused, then added, "That _is_ a good question though."

Gearald looked pensive, and his face wrinkled in the way that it did when he was conjuring up a new project in his head.

"Alright," said Olwrick, tapping on the counter between them, "out with it."

"Well…" he began, "I was thinking about her carrying around those swords of hers—"

"Right, we went over that."

"—and I was _thinking_" Gearald said pointedly, "That there has to be a better way to carry it. I mean. Great-Swords are carried around on men's backs. Why can't a short-sword? Here. Let me see your scabbard. I'll take measurements of it. We must have a belt 'round here that'll do the trick."

Olwrick nodded, untying the sword from his side. He had to give it to him, the fellow had good ideas. Carrying it around like that would prove useful; freeing up one side and making way for the possibilities of new fighting stances. Maybe he'd ask Faile if he could learn a similar technique…

* * *

"There. All done," cooed that Cheree, or Chera, or whatever her name was woman, removing the string baring the last of the measurements, "You can get dressed now."

Arryne stood in a stuffy little room with small, dusty windows high in the only wall that allowed them, in her smallclothes. Her top was completely bare, as she'd rarely ever wore the shifts that most women wore—they were too long. She'd quietly requested, after experiencing this nightmare, a few shirts that she would wear under her tunics.

"Of course!" the lass had said, hiding her uncertainty without missing a beat.

Quickly, Arryne scrambled to put her clothing back on, turning her back on the woman. She'd already seen what there was to see, but Arryne wanted to keep at least some commodity of modesty. Once she was dressed, and had finished lacing up her boots, she sprang from the room, fully intending to high-tail it right out of that dreadful place.

"Miss—MISS!" Chera cried after her, "Wait! We have a few tunics that are already made that would fit you!"

Arryne stifled yet another groan, barely, and turned back with a pained expression. This was torture. Why couldn't they just send them to her home?

"Err. Right, sorry 'bout that," she said stiffly, and followed the girl back to a room stuffed to the ceiling with shelves and racks.

The room, much bigger than the last by at least three or four times, was full-up with all sorts of clothes. Arryne wasn't sure how they managed to fit so many types in one place. They were all folded tenderly—except for dresses, which an entire wall was dedicated to—and sorted by type, color, and material. Small, handwritten labels were attached to each shelf, along with small numbers painted in the corners. Another wall was entirely comprised of large rolls of all manner of different materials. Overall, the room was incredibly well-kept, and the place smelled faintly flowery.

Arryne was led to shelf after shelf, each stop forcing her to take hold of a different colored shirt or coat. She stopped at the end of the last row, noticing her sister who was atop a stool with a dark-midnight blue dress on, arms outstretched, looking rather prim. The dress, Arryne had to admit, did look good on her, but standing there like that… She wasn't sure how she did it.

Another busty woman was circling Chalinda, plucking out a pin here or there, and muttering notes of measurements to herself. Arryne glanced towards Chera, who hadn't noticed that Arryne had fallen behind, then slipped with a few leaping steps to Chalinda's side. The woman making final touches scowled at her, and she was quick to dance out of her way.

"Chalinda," she grumbled, "I don't know how you stand this place."

Chalinda opened one eye, and stared down her hooked nose at her, raising her eyebrows regally. Her jaw was clenched, and she seemed oddly determined. Light, but Arryne would too if she had to stand up there while someone pricked needles and pins into her sides.

"Honestly, Arryne, I don't understand how you can't. It's wonderful here. Really, they're nice people."

"Sure, they're great. Whatever. But standing still while someone…" Arryne trailed off, making the motions of someone wrapping a string around her bust. That made Chalinda laugh—which was cut short however, with a light cough. Chalinda made a face. Was she coming down, ill?

"Stand still deary," the woman noted absently.

"Are you alright, Chal?"

"Don't call me that," she grouched, "And yes. I'm fine. Really. A bit lightheaded… The bodice is a bit tight… Makes me a bit light-headed, that's all."

"Okay…" said Arryne lamely. "Whatever you say."

Arryne stood around, watching the woman work, with mild concern for her sister. She wasn't looking that great. Hadn't she been fine before? Sweat beaded her forehead, and she looked… Pale. Arryne wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but she seemed to sway. She found her knees tensing, much like they would in training, in case she had to move quickly to catch her.

"Err, ma'am," said Chalinda suddenly, turning green, "I need to get down."

"Just one moment dear, I've almo—"

The woman's sentence was interrupted by the sudden spray of vomit emitting from Chalinda.

The woman dropped her handful of pins and needles, yelping loudly. She scrambled backwards, tripping over her dress with a gnarly tearing sound and landed on her bottom with a loud thud. Arryne sprang into action, tossed the clothes in her arms to the floor near-by and offered sturdy hands to her sister who teetered dangerously, retching again loudly. Another spray of vomit. Arryne pointedly ignored the splashes of liquid that dotted her sleeves. Chalinda looked green, and her face contorted up grotesquely. She looked as if she might faint.

"We could use a bucket in here!" called Arryne, staring around.

The wide-eyed woman frantically cried for assistance, lumbered to her feet and ran to the other side of the room. She returned with a wooden bucket, shoving it under Chalinda's chin; who lurched forward, and it was Arryne's arms alone that kept her tiny form from collapsing on the wooden floor. The stool fell over sideways. The vomiting did not stop.

Faile entered the room briskly, hiking her skirts up with a determined frown. Chera was mumbling apologies from behind her. The poor girl was still carrying odds and ends she'd picked out for Arryne. She immediately wrapped an arm around the other side of Chalinda, murmuring her approval at Arryne's quick thinking.

"Is she okay?" Arryne asked dumbly.

"She's ill," was all her mother replied, "Get me a chair. Someone send word to Perrin. Arryne, inform your brother. We'll come back tomorrow." The women who worked their glanced uneasily at each other, clearly not looking forward to that; but set about to work in providing seating, another bucket, and cleaning up the mess.

Only after Chalinda had been seated securely did Arryne release her. Her mother must have caught her staring uneasily at her sleeves, because she ordered one of the women to provide a fresh set of clothes—which Arryne accepted without complaint. It wasn't long before she was jogging down the busy road again, feeling a bit unnerved and anxious to find Olwrick.

* * *

Olwrick watched Gearald at work. He was young, but certainly no novice at what he was doing. He ran the thick needle in his hand through the wide strip of leather laid flat in front of him with ease. His brows were furrowed, and his tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth.

"It's looking nice," he commented idly, content with relaxing in the quiet.

"Thanks. I'm actually just about done."

Olwrick grunted in reply, and stretched, working his back that had begun to get stiff from leaning over the table. It'd been a while since he'd moved. He'd become entranced with the other's trade. Olwrick himself was not incredibly gifted with anything creative. There was a small voice in the back of his head that envied Gearald for his ability to just… _Make_ things.

Granted, once upon a time ago, Perrin had tried to teach Olwrick the art of blacksmithing. That had gone rather disastrously. In the end, he'd wasted not a few good bits of iron and ended up with burns on his arms and a bad mood.

A bell, tied to the door-knob of the shop entrance jingled, and Olwrick made to move out of the way for the incoming customer. He was surprised to see Arryne, dressed in a fine blue shirt with green embroidery and form-fitting breeches tucked into her—his old—boots. She was flushed and breathing heavily. Light, had she been running?

"Arryne!" greeted Gearald cheerfully, "I've been—"

"Sorry Gearald," she interrupted hastily, "Olwrick. Chalinda's ill. Started vomiting everywhere. Go help bring her home. I'm going to run and get some help for you."

Olwrick didn't have time to ask questions, as she'd already spun on her heel and darted out of the shop, jogging out into the street and towards their home. He stood there, for a few moments, in confusion. Chalinda was vomiting? Had she eaten something that hadn't sat well? He closed his mouth, realizing that it had fallen agape.

"Well, Gearald, I guess I'll be seeing you later then," said Olwrick solemnly, "I guess it's off to play healer, for me."

"Right. Sorry, mate. I hope she's well."

"I'm sure she's fine. Arryne tends to act on impulse. I'll bring her by though, tomorrow, to pick that up. How much for it?" he asked, noting the slight crestfallen look of the boy.

"Oh—no charge. Consider it repayment for all the coin you've spent on me. Should I keep the blade 'till then?"

"Yeah. It'll be going to her anyway," Olwrick replied, walking backwards towards the door, "You can tell her it's a gift. Girls like gifts."

He flashed him a wave and a grin before stepping out into the heat. What would these girls do without him? Olwrick knew what they would do. The moment they'd hit a bump in the road, they'd fall on their backsides with no way of knowing how to right themselves again.

He didn't jog as Arryne did. He had a much shorter trip than she had, and he wasn't, quite frankly, as concerned. People got sick. It wasn't uncommon. She would need a few days' rest, then be up prancing about like her usual prissy self; barking orders at servants and glaring at him anytime he passed wind.

He pushed open the door to the tailor's, grunting as they ushered him into the back. They knew him; they knew his whole family. The whole lot of them were practically regulars here. They'd been getting the majority of their clothing here for as long as Olwrick could remember. He'd never inquired why, because the quality of the material and the stitching were good. Moreover, it was where his mother insisted they go. That was enough for him.

When he entered the back room he had to resist plugging his nose. The place, normally smelling of the sweet soaps that they used to keep the materials clean of dust, smelled of rank bile. It didn't take long for him to locate his family amongst the shelves of neatly folded garments. Her sister could always be found near either the bolts of material, or near the long line of carefully hung dresses.

Light, the girl was a pitiful sight indeed. She sat, hunched over a wooden bucket nearly full of her own sick up. Her hair had come loose, and hung in a rats-nest of a bun at the base of her neck—whereas before it had sat much higher on her head. She groaned unintelligibly, and coughed. '_Maybe Arryne hadn't been exaggerating,_' he thought.

Around her, women worked to clean up the spots where she had evidently emptied the contents of her stomach previously. They all wore pained, disdainful expressions. He could have laughed.

"Olwrick, good. You are here." Faile said absently. She had drawn a chair up beside her, and was rubbing Chalinda's back with one hand, and attempting to brush the dark locks from her face with the other. The woman was stern, indeed, but it could not be said that she did not have the maternal instinct to nurture.

"Arryne went ahead to go fetch Da, I think," he said quietly; He wasn't sure why he had spoken softly. He supposed that it was just something one did around sick people.

"I'm sorry," sniffled Chalinda, "I'm sorry, Ma."

Olwrick felt a pang of empathy. It was rare for her to use anything but 'Mother' when referring to Faile. She really must have felt like death itself.

"Don't be, dearest," shushed Faile, patting her lightly, "It happens." She looked up from her daughter, expression becoming stern, "Is that cool rag ready yet?"

"Yes ma'am!" said a girl who came bouncing down the hall—she was no more than ten.

"Thank you," said Faile stiffly, taking the thing and pressing it against Chalinda's down-turned head. The girl seemed to have expected more gratitude; for Olwrick noticed her make a face once her back was turned. '_Spoiled,_' he thought, perhaps a bit too meanly.

Olwrick just stood there, unsure as to what he was supposed to do in this situation. He had, at first, been under the impression that he would be sweeping in, picking her up, and carrying the girl home. It appeared that his mother would be waiting for something else. A litter, perhaps? That _would_ make things easier. On both of them.

"Is she… You alright?" he asked.

"She will be fine," assured Faile, who continued to rub at her back soothingly, "She will need rest, and broth."

"Okay…"

'_So much for getting that blade today,_' he thought.

* * *

Arryne entered her home, wishing that she had a waterskin attached to her hip as she would when she was training. She was, by now, out of breath and sweating profusely. She did not, however, slow down. She bounded across the foyer and took the stairs in a few strides—almost leaps—and was at her father's study in moments.

However, as usual, just as she'd raised her fist to knock, the door swung open—and revealed a woman with a surprised face, eyebrows raised, and more distinctly, a long braid over her shoulder. The woman, whose stomach bulged through her fine green silk dress with pregnancy, had a red dot on her forehead; and she wore not a few pieces of jewelry. Arryne couldn't tell how old she was, for she had not a wrinkle on her face at all, but wise eyes that spoke of the same brand of wisdom that her father had. If someone had asked Arryne to name an age, she was quite sure she wouldn't have been able to.

Seeing the look on Arryne's face, she quickly stepped aside and beckoned her in. Arryne crossed the threshold, making only a minor note of an imposing man standing near the window, who wore a leather strip and a nauseating cloak that seemed to shift colors despite his lack of motion. Who were these people?

"Arryne," Perrin addressed, picking up on her solemn mood quickly. He stood, alert. The wrinkle in his forehead and the way his golden eyes shimmered indicated his worry.

"Aye, Da," Arryne began, taking a moment to catch her breath, "Chalinda. She became ill while trying on that new dress, just now. She started vomiting everywhere and nearly fainted. I caught her, and as far as I can tell, she's alright. Ma sent me to get…" She trailed off. Come to think, she wasn't really sure what she had been sent to get.

Perrin seemed to pick up on that too, for he had come around the desk and was calling out of his study door for a servingman already—who appeared almost instantly. He spoke quietly, calling for a litter and a small party to go and retrieve her. Sighing heavily, he set them on their tasks.

"I am sorry, Perrin," the woman said heavily, "I wish I could make a gate-way, but the pregnancy is interrupting my ability to channel. Elayne went through the same thing, with her babes."

"It's fine, Nynaeve," said Perrin, waving a hand, "Children get sick. The heat might have gotten to her. Faile had mentioned that the poor girl hadn't been feeling well."

"I'll take a look at her when she arrives. I insist," The woman named Nynaeve replied, suddenly gaining a stern tone, "I took care of you when you were a babe, I would do the same for your children." The upturned corners of her mouth contradicted her tone.

Arryne's eyebrows shot up. She had taken care of Da? How old was she? How did she look so—wait. She'd mentioned making a gate-way. Light, she was Aes-Sedai! Suddenly, Arryne felt abashed for not having bowed as proper when she had entered the room, and felt awkward now. She was not sure how one addressed this sort of situation. She had never found a use for traveling by gate-way, and she had never required healing so her experience with Aes Sedai was minimal. How did one show respect to an Aes Sedai when one had already forgotten to?

So she stood there, quietly. Hopefully, she wouldn't make any more a fool of herself than she had already. She couldn't help, however, stealing a glance towards the woman's hands; at her serpent-ring.

Perrin laughed, meanwhile, and held his hands up—just as he had done with Tam—and said, "Of course, Nynaeve. I wouldn't dream of standing in your way. I remember that thumping stick of yours."

They shared a few laughs, even shared by the quiet man shadowing Nynaeve from behind—a warder, then. He did not sit, as Nynaeve had helped herself to do. Despite the casual manner in which they were arranged, he appeared as if he could draw his sword and have a man bleeding by the neck by the time he'd choked out his first insult. Arryne noted the heron-marked blade, with a not a small measure of respect.

"Is this your other daughter, Perrin?" Nynaeve asked, drawing unwanted attention to Arryne, who had been contemplating a quiet escape through the left-open door. Her sharp eyes seemed to take in her very being, measuring her. Arryne felt her gaze like a cool breeze, and suddenly felt very small under it. She could practically feel the woman's displeasure at her attire—and something else. Curiosity?

"No dress?" she chided.

"She refuses it. We've tried, Nynaeve. Light, but we've tried. She won't have any of it. She follows after her brother. She'd rather have at a good blade than a sewing lesson."

Arryne felt like a horse up for sale; being talked about blatantly without the chance—or desire—for her own input. The man with the Heron-blade eyed her dangerously, as if wondering she were going to make a sudden movement; and no wonder! With a start, Arryne realized that instinctively, her hand had reached for her sword, and she'd been fingering the pommel idly. Quickly, she dropped her hands to her sides, cheeks burning.

"Oh Lan, stop frightening her," said Nynaeve cheerfully, "She means no harm. She's just nervous."

He said nothing in response. Arryne's cheeks burned hotter. She kept herself from directing her gaze to the floor. Light, but she'd rather be with Olwrick, carrying Chalinda home.

'_You could have left, you know_,' she thought to herself, '_You could have delivered the message and left. Now look at you._'

"So you are… Learning swordsmanship," said Nynaeve. It was not a question. Arryne nodded though, anyway. "Perrin, is she normally so quiet?"

"Not at all," he laughed, though Arryne bobbed her head again.

"Has Tam been working with you?" asked Lan, nearly causing Arryne to leap from her skin. Arryne suddenly, by respect or intimidation, felt compelled to answer.

"Yes, sir," she said firmly—more so than she felt. The weight of the blade on her hip suddenly granted her courage, and she found her shoulders straightening. She still didn't meet their gazes.

"Then be proud, and meet our gazes." So he _had_ noticed. "He has good tastes in apprentices. He knows what he is doing," said Lan softly.

Arryne stood straighter still, finding a sort of will in those words. It seemed to her, that there were things left unspoken in that statement, of events that she was not aware of.

* * *

Chalinda heaved again into the bucket, sicking up more yellowish bile and thick phlegm. Her mother's hand did not leave her back. She appreciated the comfort of it. She needed it.

Her head spun, and she didn't dare look up for fear that she would witness the world spinning around her violently. She resisted shivers that wanted to take over her body. She felt cold, but she could feel the sweat dripping from her temple. She was running a fever. Chalinda's stomach churned unpleasantly, and her bones ached.

Light, she was embarrassed. After today, Chalinda wasn't very sure that she would be willing to show face in this shop again. She'd apologized, deliriously, over and over between the spasms and heaving. If it weren't for the energy that it would consume—the energy she was not willing to give—she might have cried

More people entered the back room creating quite a clatter. She recognized one of the men to be one of her father's most-trusted servingmen. She spared a glance upwards enough to notice a litter and another batch of men standing nearby—then regretted it. Another wave of dizziness consumed her and she redirected her gaze to the bucket in her lap.

"Miss, can you stand?" said one of the men. Chalinda nodded slowly.

"With help," she said softly, ashamed.

"Okay miss," said the man, "We've got you."

Faile's hand finally left her back, only to return again at her arm and directed Olwrick to her other arm. Feeling nervous and unsteady, Chalinda set the bucket aside and stood shakily. She wavered for a moment, relying on her mother and brother to keep her steady. Then, she made her way, with quiet cheers from the servingmen, to the litter.

Disregarding what was proper, she lowered herself down and crawled onto the litter. It wasn't comfortable, but it was nice to be off of her feet already. Her eyes closed, and became like lead. Light, she was tired.

"Okay Miss, we're going to pick it up now…" said a man from above her. "One…Two…Three…"

She felt the litter sway, and leave the ground. She had no knowledge of what came next; Sleep overtook her.

* * *

Evening fell in peace, the house becoming a quiet place of concerned tension. Nynaeve saw to Chalinda the moment she'd come through the door and had sent everyone but Perrin and Faile from the vicinity. Arryne, feeling put off by this, had found herself making her way to the training ground once more; sun low in the sky and casting a yellow-orange glow upon everything. There was a soft breeze, and the afternoon heat was beginning to fade already. Arryne still wore the clothes taken in haste from the shop earlier that day.

Dinner was sure to be served soon, and Arryne would likely hear it later from Faile for skipping out, but she's needed to walk. She wasn't sure why her feet had led her here—perhaps the comfort in habit, or even because simply playing keep away would not do—but it was a good thing. She needed to work her sword arms.

The conversation that she had interrupted between her brother and sister still plagued her. She mentally kicked herself for not simply listening in beforehand. Her sister's sudden illness had effectively distracted everyone, and kept her from gaining the answers she sought.

Perhaps she was being a bit too selfish… Her sister was ill and she shouldn't be concerned with something so trivial… Nevertheless…

Arryne's hand fell to her sword the moment she stepped into the clearing, instinctively falling into _Leopard in the Tree_. As she did, she reached for the void, tossing everything into the flame of her mind with ease.

'_No need to think of that now,_' She thought.

The flame came naturally, and in the next moment she was sliding into _Leaf on the Breeze_, unsheathing her sword and stepping into an offensive stance. From one stance to another, she moved with purpose. Erase the bad, work out the good. She found herself moving her sword back and forth between hands. After her practice today with two, she found having only one to be… Lacking. Uncomfortable, almost.

Footsteps behind her made her turn on her heel, the flame shaking in her mind but not altogether disappearing. She shifted into _Leopard in High Grass_ upon turning, but lowered her arm and let the void escape her upon seeing only Olwrick; who was sauntering casually with his hands in his pockets. He had probably come on behalf of Faile to drag her to dine.

"I thought I'd find you out here," he said, offering her a smile.

"Yeah… I wanted to get out of there for a bit."

Silence hung between then after that, casting them in no more than the fading light of dusk. Another breeze swept the clearing, rustling the grass around them pleasantly. Arryne slowly sheathed her sword, expecting to be led back to the house.

"Arryne," he finally, as the sword slid back into place with a pleasing hiss, "About earlier—in the kitchens, with Chalinda."

"What of it?" Arryne pretended to be indifferent, shrugging one of her shoulders slightly. She hung a thumb from her scabbard.

"It was about us," he began slowly, as if trying to find the right words—he must have been worried about offending her, "Da and Ma are… Well. They've been tossing around conversations about who will take over, when they're gone… As Lord or Lady." He paused then, as if letting it sink in.

"I… Listen, Arryne. I'm sorry but, it looks like either Chalinda or I are going to…. I mean, you haven't had any experience—"

"Olwrick, stuff it," said Arryne, her face splitting into a grin. She could have laughed. Light, they'd been secretive around that? Arryne wanted nothing to do with all of that! It was too much—the bowing, the scraping, being polite and minding manners… Arryne was smart enough to know that she certainly, though born into it, was no material to act as nobility.

"I have no interest in it, what-so-ever," she continued, feeling silly for having been so bloody curious, "Really."

"Err…" he hesitated. "Really?"

"_Yes_ really. I don't want any of that. Too much responsibility." She waved her hand.

"Oh."

"Was that all there was?" she asked, her easy-going grin plastered in place.

"Well… Yeah," Olwrick said plainly. He seemed confused. His facial expression was incredulous, and even in the dark she noted that his cheeks were burning colorfully.

Arryne burst into laughter, clutching at her sides. Light, but they were idiots.

"Well, Ma also asked me to bring you inside," he said pointedly, kicking at the grass below him.

That cut Arryne's laughter off short.

The dinner table was quiet when Arryne sat down. Her family, Nynaeve and Lan sat stiffly in their chairs, staring at Olwrick and herself as they made their entrance. Only Chalinda was absent, likely in her room recovering from her illness yet.

The room wasn't dim, lamps having been lighted up in occasion of guests, and servants bustled about, placing a grand meal on the wide, dark table. The aroma of meats and steamed vegetables teased at Arryne's nose, and she had to resist reaching out and nicking a few nibbles. She sat, as politely as she could, with her placed folded in her lap.

Her conversation with Olwrick had surprised her—and left her feeling relieved. She was surprised that he had approached her as he had to discuss what had been going on behind the scenes, and, ultimately, relieved that she really did not have to worry about it any further. She'd been worried that it had involved something more…serious. She should have known better. It was nice of him to have made some clarity, nevertheless. She felt only a little guilty for being so chipper while everyone else at the table—excluding Olwrick—seemed to have something boiling on their minds.

Finally, with a worded cue from her father, the tables inhabitants began helping themselves to the small feast in front of them. Come to think—why had there been so much food placed on the table?

'_To honor Nynaeve-Sedai, no doubt,_' she thought absently, immediately reaching for the nearest slice of carved pheasant breast, '_She's probably used to much better food… Well, we have what we have. And that's that._'

Once settled comfortably with a loaded plate, she struggled to keep her table manners up. She noted Olwrick who, on his best behavior, was careful in cutting smaller bites than usual; and would steal a glance at the Aes-Sedai from the corner of his eye when he thought no one would be paying attention.

The only sounds in the room were the careful footsteps of the servants slipping in to fill a drink, or remove an empty platter and the sounds of forks and knives clinking cheerfully against polished tableware. Arryne had enjoyed the silence in the beginning, but was now beginning to grow uncomfortable. She stared around the table, boldly, raising her eyebrows.

Perrin seemed distracted, as did Faile. Both of them wore solemn expressions and seemed to be weighing something on their minds. Olwrick, who was not entirely oblivious, glanced at Arryne with an expression that asked '_What's going on?_' The Aes Sedai and her warder were content, and seemed unaffected by the unusual quiet mood of the table.

Finally, after most who were seated at the table were at least halfway through their meals, the silence was broken. Perrin, who had spent the majority of the evening looking perplexed, set his fork and knife down, drawing attentive stares from the rest of the present parties.

"Well, since no one is saying much," he said gruffly, "I suppose I'd best go ahead and say it outright. Olwrick, Arryne… Your mother and I were told today…"

He paused for a moment, and then said, "Well. To put it plainly. Your sister can channel. She'll be off in a few days for Tar Valon."


	5. 004 - Preparations for Travel

**Chapter Four:**

**Preparations for Travel**

Chalinda awoke with her mouth feeling dry, her lips chapped, and in desperate need of a bath. She could feel her matted hair clinging to her head and she felt drained, still; but the churning in her stomach had ceased and her head no longer throbbed.

Somehow, she had made it out of the dress she had been trying on the day before and was now under the warm, comfortable blankets in her room in naught but a shift. So the litter had definitely brought her safely home… She'd always been leery of the things. Distantly, she hoped that whoever had changed her had been a lady.

The curtains had not yet been drawn, but she could see, through half-lidded eyes, that sunlight peaked through the folds of satiny material. Her room was empty of anyone else but herself, and the house beyond seemed hushed.

She went over the previous day's events in her mind, replaying it with a fresh wave of embarrassment. She would owe the shop a note of apology, when she felt well enough… And likely, a bill would be sent, making her father a not-so-happy man. So much for the new dress…

The door opened quietly, and a maid peeked her head through. Upon seeing Chalinda's open eyes, she opened the door further and came bustling in with a tray of baked goodies and tea. She was an older woman, with more than a few touches of grey streaking her hair—which was pulled into a neat braid—and laughter lines accented her round face pleasantly. Chalinda had spent many days with her as a young girl. She was sweet, and definitely caring; a good nanny. She moved quietly, and kept sending Chalinda worried glances from over her shoulder. She set the tray down softly then finally asked,

"Are you alright, dear? Feeling better?"

Chalinda made herself sit up, despite her comfort, nodded, and offered the women a reassuring smile. She slowly slid back the thick blankets and padded to the small table on which the tray sat. She did not bother with a robe. Chalinda found, upon smelling the sweet baked tarts, that she was famished. She in a rather unladylike manner, plucked one of the flaky pastries and stuffed half of it into her mouth.

"I'm glad to see you have an appetite!" the woman said cheerfully, pouring Chalinda a cup of tea.

"I didn't realize I was this hungry," she admitted, "I had trouble eating yesterday."

"Well, I'd imagine so dear, you were as sick as one could be, I'm afraid. Are you sure you're all better? You have some color in your cheeks…" The woman began pulling clothes out for her, sifting through her ornate dresses in attempts to find something that Chalinda assumed she deemed comfortable for her. She smiled, and took another bite.

'_How thoughtful,_' thought Chalinda. Out loud she said, "Of course I am. Thank you so much for the food, too."

"It's nothing, dear," she sniffed affectionately, "Are you feeling well enough to have company, dear?"

"Well…" Chalinda thought for a moment, "I think so. I'll need a robe—and perhaps a bit of ham is possible." She added the past part with a touch of bashfulness.

"Of course! I'll lay a robe out for you, and then run right down to the kitchens."

"Thank you."

After a few moments, Chalinda was left alone to her own devices. She paused her meal long enough only to slide a robe on, then went right back at it. Light, she was hungry.

* * *

The loud clacking of wooden swords filled the air, and drowned out most other noises. Arryne and Olwrick had made their escapes to the training grounds first thing in the morning, and had been working themselves hard ever since. The sun was high above them, but despite the summer sun, the heat didn't seem to be so grating today.

Olwrick countered his sister's quick movements with firm, forceful ones. _Two Hares Leaping_ to counter her _Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose_. _Kissing the Adder_,_ Folding the Air, Falling Leaf_, back into _Two Hares Leaping. _Light, but the girl was quick on her feet, and she'd often switch her sword from hand to hand. Each time she switched, her technique would shift. More than once, Olwrick noted her other hand itching for a sword that was not there. Arryne was relentless; and despite her stout stature the girl moved with the litheness of a fox.

Olwrick wouldn't like to admit it—he would refuse to say anything aloud about it—but his sister was definitely better than him; and not only better, but faster. She'd picked up the sword only a year ago. Olwrick had been training not too much longer than she, but he would have liked to have thought that would have given him an edge. He spent most of his time defending. Olwrick's movements seemed slow and clumsy in comparison to hers. That grated at him.

Suddenly her assault ceased, and she hopped backwards and lowered her training blade. Her breath came in heaves, and she doubled over, wiping sweat from her brow. Her hands came to rest on her knees, all clad up in embroidered pants that hung carelessly over the top of her knee-high boots.

"Are you alright?" Olwrick asked in between his own rugged breathing.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I just…" She trailed off, and fell silent.

His sister had seemed troubled earlier, and it seemed that even sparring—something that would normally put the girl in an excitable mood—did nothing to alleviate her worries. Olwrick felt a pang of remorse for her. The news that Chalinda would be leaving had apparently made a mark on her, and while it affected Olwrick only a little, it seemed to have put Arryne in a tizzy.

Olwrick would now, officially, be labeled as heir. He would become Lord of the Two Rivers, just as his father was. He would be learning the more refined arts of handling his people, making financial decisions, and calming squabbles amongst minor parties. That pleased him, though he felt more than just a tad guilty for feeling so. He had been looking forward to the competition that would have ensued with Chalinda; he would even go so far as to say that he'd miss the girl while she'd be away.

"Olwrick," said Arryne finally, standing straight, "I'll be back later. I'm going to go talk to Da."

"Hey—wait," he called. She had already started right away from him. Bloody women. Always rushing off to do one thing or another. She paused, spinning on her heel to look back at him. She wore a dark expression. Light.

"Meet with me after lunch time. Gearald has something he wants to give you."

Her expression lightened—a bit.

"Oh. Thanks. See you."

Bloody women.

Olwrick sighed, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Now what would he do?

* * *

A woman in a fine, yellow, dress came sauntering in through Chalinda's door. Her belly was swollen with child, and a long, dark braid hung over her shoulder. A colored dot rested on her forehead, and the woman wore an expression upon her ageless face that could have iced over a burning hearth. Her hands twitched, and she seemed to resist fidgeting. She sat herself right across from Chalinda without asking, or even introducing herself. Chalinda sniffed.

"Good morning, Lady Aes Sedai," said Chalinda. She did not get up to curtsy, as would have been proper. She did, however, pour the woman a cup of tea.

"It's almost lunch time," the Aes Sedai said, with a touch of impatience, "You slept late. But I sort of expected it. You were the worst case I've seen in some time. Most just get a light fever, sleep for a few hours, then get on their way again."

That confused Chalinda, but she did her best to mask it. She sipped her tea, quietly. Who was this woman?

"Well. You've already started that blasted calm demeanor. The sisters at the tower will appreciate that, no doubt," the Aes Sedai continued idly, taking a drink of her own up.

"The sisters?" Chalinda dropped her calm expression. Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth dropped a bit. The Aes Sedai smiled wryly. "I'm going to the White Tower?"

"You're a wilder. You have the ability to channel. We'll be leaving in a few days."

Chalinda fell quiet, but her mind sprang into a flurry of thought. She could channel? That meant she would be, should her talent in the power prove strong enough, an Aes Sedai. Just like the woman sitting across from her. What would Faile think? What would Perrin think? Did that mean she would not be named as heir? Her cup of tea went untouched, and she folded her hands thoughtfully on the table.

She did not want to leave home, or her family. She did not want to leave her lifestyle, or the prospect of becoming a Lady that people could turn to in times of need… She had worked hard to become the child that her mother and father had wanted—to follow in her mother's footsteps. Chalinda felt all of that, all of that work, coming undone.

"How long will I be away?"

"Indefinitely."

So she had no way of knowing if she would ever be able to come home again… She did not like that. She did not like that at all.

"I have things I must do here," said Chalinda slowly, "Is there no way to wai—"

"Of course not!" the Aes Sedai interrupted impatiently, "Bad things could happen if you don't go, girl. You could hurt someone! You could burn yourself to a crisp. You need training. Oh, don't look as if someone just killed your pet on your naming day. This is an honor. Even if some of the sisters are stuffy old—." She cut herself off, and fell into silence.

"I... I don't know what to say…" Chalinda murmured softly. She was not, by any means, ready to leave home. To leave, for a city she had no knowledge of, a place that she knew no one…

"You will train as a Novice for a few years. Then you will become an Accepted. If you pass your tests, stay true to the obligations of the Tower, you may become Aes Sedai."

"I…." Chalinda was at a loss for words. She did not know how to ask the hundreds of questions that played on her mind. So she asked instead, "What's your name?"

The woman across from her looked a bit shocked, then abashed. She smiled.

"Nynaeve Sedai," she said simply, and took another drink from her cup, "You will be called 'child' by your elders at the Tower. Your name will not mean much until you are an Accepted, and rarely then. Regardless of how old they are. Accepted and Aes Sedai are your superiors there."

"My title means nothing?" asked Chalinda numbly. This was not getting any better.

"Not a thing. You will be the same as any farm girl who has come to learn. Your status as Aes Sedai, if you reach it, is more important than any status in Nobility."

"I see…"

Chalinda wanted to cry, or perhaps crawl back into her bed. This had happened incredibly suddenly, and for all of the maturity that she had for her age, she did not feel prepared for this. She felt like a small girl being thrust into the world without an ounce of knowledge to keep her afloat. She was overwhelmed.

Nynaeve's expression softened and she reached a warm hand over and placed It atop Chalinda's folded fingers. Chalinda—her reluctance and resentment for the situation aside—was grateful for the gesture.

"It's tough, Chalinda. I know," she said softly, "I left Edmonds Field when I was young too—following your father and his friends to the White Tower. I wasn't ready then, either. It is our duty, as women who can channel."

"No disrespect intended, Nynaeve Sedai, but this is not a duty that I wanted," said Chalinda truthfully.

"No duty that means anything, is," she replied.

* * *

Arryne had been toying with the idea since she had met Nynaeve Sedai and her warder Lan the previous day, and even more so after Olwrick had approached her before dinner. After the announcement that Chalinda would be leaving for the White Tower…. Well. She'd finally made up her mind.

She made her way up to her father's study unusually slowly, taking her time on each stair. Soon, if Arryne had her way about it, it would be likely that she would never cross that threshold, or climb these stairs again. She did not feel sad about that.

She paused, outside of her father's open study. Voices poured from the inside out into the empty hallway. She recognized both of them. Her father's, Perrin's, and the deep, steady rumble of the voice of Lan. '_Good,_' she thought, '_A warder to witness._'

She did not knock, and Arryne froze in hesitation. Sure, she'd been toying with the thought… But… Was this something that she _really_ wanted to do? It would change her life, if she did. That thought did not exactly scare her—Arryne didn't fear much—but it certainly unsettled her.

But what did it matter? What good was she doing here? It was clear, that as nobility, she fell short. Her mother and father had not done much to ensure her status—and she did not expect them to. That meant, however, that Arryne had little tying her to the Two Rivers. No. She'd made up her mind. She was going, whether Perrin and Faile liked it or not.

Her hand fell to the pommel of her sword, and she knocked upon the door frame. The voices on the inside of the room paused, then,

"Come on in, Arryne," came Perrin's voice—She _had_ to know how he did that.

Arryne took a deep breath, and entered.

Perrin sat across from Lan at his desk, wearing a solemn expression. He wore clothes that suited him—clothes that were also suited for a black smith rather than a lord. A plain shirt and a thick, leather vest over it. Lan donned a similar attire, and today, did not wear the color-shifting cloak of a warder.

Perrin nodded for Arryne to take a seat next to Lan, who raised his eyebrows at her when she strode in only a few steps to the desk and stood there quietly. She did not want to sit. Arryne worried that if she sat, she would lose her resolve. What if he denied her? What would she do then?

'_It doesn't matter. I made up my mind,_' she thought forcefully.

"You look troubled," said Perrin slowly, his brows furrowing deeper than they had been already.

"Da… I have something I'd like to tell you."

"Alright… "

"I want to go with Chalinda."

There was a pause. Perrin gave her a look that silently asked if she'd gone a bit mad. Lan remained expressionless, and silent.

"Well, you can't, Arryne. You can't channel, that I know o—"

"I want to be a warder," she interrupted.

"_What?_"

"I want to be a warder," said Arryne again firmly. "I'm already good with a blade. I expect I could pick up anything that they'll teach me there alright. I already know that you guys have no real need of me—Olwrick came to me and told me what he overheard. Please don't be mad at him for that—but the thing is, I don't have a real place here, Da. I don't have much friends or the like, so…" Arryne shrugged, "I want to leave and go train to be a warder."

Perrin sat in what Arryne assumed to be stunned, thoughtful silence.

The room suddenly seemed uncomfortably warm, and Arryne had to stop herself from asking if she could open a window. The silence hung thick, and she felt her nerves tightening. Why wasn't he saying anything?

Finally, he said, "I don't think It's a good idea Arryne. I just don't."

Arryne protested, "But Da! I—"

"_No_, Arryne."

"There's nothing—"

"Arryne!" He said sharply, making her fall silent, "Enough! Light, girl. I all but let you get away with murder. When you refused to dress like a lass, I let it go. When you picked up the sword, against my better judgment, I let you. What Olwrick says doesn't affect your place in this family. You are _not_ going. That's that. If you feel out of place, we'll _find_ a place for you. I'll not hear any more of this."

Arryne bit back another protest, and nodded. There was no arguing with him when he said something like that. It only ended up in feeling twice as small as when you came in. So without another word, she bowed stiffly, and stalked from the room. She made for the stairs heavily, her hand itching at her sword.

'_Fine,'_ she thought, _'That's fine. I don't very well need him to like it one bit.'_

She brushed past the Aes Sedai who had healed her sister on the way out. Distantly, she heard her chastise her on manners as she bounded down the stairs. She did not apologize, or turn around to acknowledge her. Irritation sprang through her blood like heat, and it made her want to run, or perhaps hop up and down violently. It only took a few steps in her quick stride to cross the foyer and slip out the front door.

Her boots thudded heavily in the grass as she made her way to her place of peace of mind—the clearing that her and her brother trained in. Furious, she ripped the sword from its scabbard and fell into a series of rather violent stances—techniques that if used in combat, would be deadly. She poured all of her anger into each strike, ignoring the void and the peace that it brought.

She rarely felt irritated about anything—not seriously so. In fact, Arryne rarely felt too strongly about anything. For every one thing that she didn't remember, it seemed that there was an emotion that had gone on and ran away with it. It almost shamed her to admit that she relished the times that she did feel irritated. It helped her understand why other people behaved the way they did. So she let her irritation swell, and worked it into her arms.

Her mind had not been swayed. Regardless of his word, or his permission. She was leaving for the White Tower.

* * *

Perrin sighed, and sat back into his chair. He had not realized that he had leaned forward so imposingly. He ran a hand over his beard, and let out another deep breath.

He could smell the girl's frustration on the way out, and winced when he heard Nynaeve lecture her. In her temper, she must have set the woman off. She entered the room looking irritated, and she sat herself down next to Lan.

"That daughter of yours, Perrin," said Nynaeve, "She needs a good thumping."

"I'm sorry, Nynaeve," said Perrin truthfully. He _was_ sorry. But he, in all truth, could understand his daughter's frustration. She had smelled determined upon entering, and had procrastinated in the hallway to make herself so. She truly must have felt crushed, to have projected her emotions so strongly—that was something that his eldest daughter rarely did.

He sat back further in his chair, and allowed himself to relax. Lan, through the ordeal had smelled quite thoughtful. He didn't seem to disagree with her decision to go, but neither did he seem to disagree with Perrin.

"What's wrong?" asked Nynaeve, picking up on the tension.

"Arryne wants to go to the White Tower, with Chalinda. To become a warder," said Perrin heavily. He shook his head.

"Oh," she said thoughtfully. After a pause she added, "You said no, then? Why?"

This caused Perrin to start. He stared at Nynaeve incredulously.

"You don't think I should have? Light, Nynaeve. The last time she left she disappeared for six years and came back a walking corpse! I don't want anything happening to her."

"Perrin," said Nynaeve softly, "Children grow up. They leave. You cannot keep her here forever, if she doesn't want it."

"She's already been taken once, Nynaeve. The White Tower is already getting one of my girls," he growled.

"I don't know that they accept women as warders, anyway," said Lan.

"Oh, I think they'd make an exception, with a few prods here and there," said Nynaeve lightly, "You said it yourself, Lan. Tam doesn't make mistakes in his students. Do you think she has talent enough?"

"I've seen her… She's definitely got potential."

"No!" Exclaimed Perrin. Light! What was wrong with these people? He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. Why couldn't they see that he only wanted her safe? "No. I forbid it!"

Nynaeve gave him a knowing smile in return, and shook her head, "I don't think you'll have much of a choice, Perrin. If she's anything like you three were when you were that age… Well. Good luck in stopping her."

* * *

"Can I tell you something in security, Olwrick?" asked Arryne slowly.

The two of them made their way through the streets, and Arryne, still irritated, played her game of keep away. She slid in and out of small groups of people, occasionally making a face at someone who got directly in her way and distorted her path. She never went farther than four or five paces away from her brother, however.

"I'll take it to the grave, Arryne," replied Olwrick, who was watching her from the corner of his eye.

"I'm leaving for Tar Valon," she said, "Da doesn't want me to. But I'm going to go ahead and go anyway."

"You think yourself a warder, then?" he asked.

"I do. You said yourself I don't have much of a future here, Olwrick. Why would I stay?"

"I didn't mean that, Arryne…"

"I don't mean it that way either, but. Look. I'll tell you the same thing I told Da." She came in close, pausing her game for a moment, "It's not like I've got friends, or a boy that I intend to marry. I don't have much to hold me here, Olwrick. I want to go. I want to be _useful_."

"Arryne…"

"Don't try to stop me, Olwrick. And don't tell anybody, either. Promise me."

"Arryne—"

"_Promise me_ Olwrick!"

"Okay… I won't tell anyone. I won't try to stop you. You have my oath," he finally said, looking defeated, "But… Be careful, okay? Be sure that this is what you want to do."

"I am, Olwrick. I've been thinking about this all day. All night—too. It's where I belong. I can _feel_ it," said Arryne insistently.

"I'll support you, Arryne. In fact, the gift Gearald is going to give you, I bet you'll find it useful."

"Thank you, Olwrick," she said, and threw an arm around him without breaking stride. He returned the gesture, looking down at her with a thick expression. He only grunted in reply.

The two fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the way to Gearald's shop, and Arryne went back to her game. Her mission had been accomplished. Keeping the knowledge that she would be leaving to herself had been torture, and telling Olwrick had made her feel better. She was relieved to know that he would not tell anyone—as far as she knew, the boy had never before broken an oath once he'd given it. Even if he'd given it in reluctance.

The bell on the door knob rang cheerfully when they entered, and Gearald looked up from his work with a goofy grin that took up the majority of his face. His messy hair stuck out in all directions, and Arryne tried not to notice the gap in the lad's teeth. He set whatever it was that he was working on aside, and stood to greet them.

"Arryne! Olwrick! Glad to see you!" he exclaimed, and gave Olwrick a one-armed hug that ended in a playful thump to Olwrick's arm.

"You too," said Olwrick with a grin. Arryne couldn't help being pulled into their good moods. She felt her irritation ebb away and found herself smiling with them.

"Hi there, Gearald," she said, pulling him roughly into the same kind of one-armed hug that he'd given Olwrick; It was Arryne that gave him the playful thump in the arm.

The three laughed for a moment, and Gearald waved them over to the counter.

"Alright, Arryne. Now, I might need to make a few extra measurements because I wasn't sure of your exact height or anything, but…" Gearald's ears turned pink as he spoke. He bent down behind the counter, and began rummaging, "Now, burn me, where did I put it—anyway. I think it should fit alright with the measurements that I have—I mean, the ones that I guessed at."

Olwrick and Arryne exchanged glances, and stifled their laughter. Arryne was not as oblivious to the boy's feelings as they would have like to have guessed. She just didn't return them. She didn't really care about anyone like that—which she knew was an abnormality among girls her age.

"Here!" he exclaimed, and stood up. In his hands was a tan leather belt, adorned to it the sheathe of Olwrick's old sword. Arryne thought the boy must have made a mistake though. For being fitted for one's hip, the angle of the sheathe was all wrong. It stuck out at an odd angle that would leave it dangling in her way while she walked.

"Err, Gearald," she began.

"I know, I know. It looks a bit odd. But it doesn't go on your side. It goes on your back," he explained, handing it to her, "Like those warriors who carry great-swords. See, Olwrick said that you'd taken a liking to using two swords, right? So I modified a belt that would let you do that without having them in the way."

Arryne slid the thing over her shoulders, so that the scabbard was in place in the middle of her back at a diagonal angle. She shifted her weight some, dancing back and forth, and then shrugged her shoulders to get a feel for the thing. It was by no means heavy, nor did it get in her way—just as he'd intended. She reached an arm up to grab onto the hilt of the blade, and gave it an experimental tug. It slid free without resistance.

"Gearald," she said, releasing the blade—it fell back into place easily, "I could kiss you right now. This is genius!"

"Oh—well, Arryne. You don't need to—"

Arryne interrupted the boy with a crushing hug, which caused him to squawk awkwardly. She released him, laughing heartily. His face had lightened up like a candle, and had turned as pink as a strawberry tart; and her bad mood from earlier completely diminished, and she felt like a child that had just been given a new toy.

"Thank you _so_ much, Gearald. This is going to be really useful," she said again, "I mean it."

"Really, it was nothing," he assured her, and perched on the stool behind the counter with his chest puffed out in pride.

"Arryne, is it okay if we tell him?" asked Olwrick, leaning backwards against the opposite end of the tabletop.

She thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. He wouldn't do any harm.

"Tell me what?" asked Gearald.

"Arryne's leaving us, mate. She's off for the white tower—to be a warder," explained Olwrick, his voice quiet and mysterious. Arryne noted that he suddenly seemed a lot more enthusiastic about the idea now, than he did before.

"Wow! Blood and bloody ashes! Are you serious?!"

"He is," confirmed Arryne, quirking one side of her mouth into a lopsided smirk.

"Oh wow, Arryne! A flaming _warder_. You have to come back someday, and let me take a gander at one of those fancy cloaks that they wear," Gearald said.

"Of course, mate. Who knows, maybe I can knick one for you 'specially," she replied, then added, "It's the least I can do for this." Arryne tapped on the belt-strap that went across her chest.

"Awh, Light, Arryne. I'm really glad you like it," he said, his ears turning pink again.

"I wouldn't mind a few of those Tar Valon marks," said Olwrick, his thumb on his chin.

"I'll bring a few back," assured Arryne, "if my Aes Sedai lets me come back this way."

"So how will that work?" asked Gearald, "I mean, being a warder to a woman. Does that kind of thing even happen?"

"I'm not sure," Arryne admitted, "I haven't heard of it but once before. I heard that our Queen once had a female warder, but I think she might be the only one."

"Asha'Man bond women," said Olwrick.

"Yeah, they bond _Aes Sedai_," said Gearald.

"They count as women. Sort of," Olwrick grumbled.

"That's something," said Arryne thoughtfully. She hadn't thought of it before. If a female Aes Sedai wouldn't bond her, then it was likely she could seek out an Asha'Man.

"What is?" the two boys asked in unison.

"If the White Tower doesn't work out, I'll go to the Black Tower, instead," replied Arryne, shrugging.

Gearald frowned, and shook his head.

"You have to be careful with that lot. Not all of them are right in the head," he said, tapping on the crown of his skull, "The old madness, you know."

"Oh come off it," said Olwrick, "It was cleansed during the rise of the Dragon Reborn years ago. Da said so."

The trio fell into silence after that, and Arryne found her thoughts trailing off to her future, and where it would lead her. The thought of leaving home wasn't a new one, and having the chance to actually _go_… It made her stomach roll in excitement, and only a little bit with nerves. Arryne would be lying, if she thought that she wasn't excited. She'd always sought out adventure, and she finally had it.

Her hand went to the pommel of the sword on her back, and she did not resist the smile that overtook her.

* * *

Chalinda spent the rest of the afternoon pretending that everything was normal. Her life was _not_ changing, and she was _not_ leaving. Chalinda wasn't going to leave for the White Tower forever, someone else was. No, Chalinda was just the normal daughter of a Lord, in pursuit of gaining favor so as to become the heir of their lands, and their people.

She dressed in one of her finest dresses, and did her hair up exceptionally tight, and plastered her face with a soft smile. Chalinda tailed after her mother, as was her custom, and performed her normal duties—offering advice to her mother when asked, and handing the smaller squabbles amongst property owners. She practiced, harder than usual, masking her face in tranquility. She would not let her family know that anything was bothering her. She would uphold her duty, and make her mother proud.

Finally, however, the afternoon faded into evening and while waiting for dinner to be prepared, she was left with nothing to distract her from her troubles. The overwhelmed feeling consumed her, and she found herself wandering aimlessly about the house. She paced, her slippers padding quietly across thresholds and through rooms that she took no note of.

Her thoughts boiled, and her stomach turned into tight knots. She found herself bitterly biting back tears.

'_Stop it,'_ she chastised herself, '_You are _not_ a child. Don't you dare cry, Chalinda._'

She kept pacing, only nodding in acknowledgment to the servants that greeted her cheerfully. She barely recognized half of them, suddenly. They all seemed unimportant. Everything seemed unimportant.

"Chalinda," came a firm, familiar voice from behind her, "Come talk with me, since you have time."

Chalinda turned, skirts whirling around her. Nynaeve stood, with a hand on her belly, at the door of her mother's study. She seemed genuinely concerned for the girl, her eyebrows low, and her ageless face was caring. Nynaeve waved her in, and reluctantly, Chalinda went.

Nynaeve settled herself in one of her mother's plush chairs, nestled not too far away from the cheerful hearth. She gestured towards the chair next to her earnestly, and readjusted herself in her own seat.

"Chalinda," she said, as Chalinda took her seat stiffly, "Talk with me. I know you're worried, you've been pacing for the better part of an hour."

Chalinda bit back her bitterness. The Aes Sedai did not deserve it, and she was not willing to show it. No, she'd made her decision. She would go, despite her feelings, and she would do as was required of her. Her _duty_, she'd said. Well, she would uphold it.

"I'm fine, Nynaeve Sedai," replied Chalinda carefully, "I've only a little bit on my mind, recently. Pacing helps me sort my thoughts."

"You can't fool me, girl," said Nynaeve, "I was there, in your shoes, years ago. I know how it feels to be told you must never come home."

Chalinda held her tongue, with practice, and nodded her head respectfully in acknowledgment. She _would not_ break.

"You _will_ be able to come home, someday, Chalinda. You'll be able to help people. To change the world," Nynaeve insisted.

"I am prepared for what will come, Nynaeve Sedai. In fact, I would like to leave tomorrow evening, if possible."

Chalinda had to go soon, before her resolve broke. Before she ran away, and hid like a fugitive. Nynaeve went quiet for a moment, looking pensive.

"That should be fine," she finally said, "I will make the arrangements—if you're sure."

"I am," said Chalinda.

"Alright. It will be done, child. Oh, get used to it," Nynaeve said, noting Chalinda's change in expression, "I told you earlier it's what you will get."

"Of course, Nynaeve Sedai."

The only sound then was the crackling of the hearth, and the deep breaths of the pregnant Aes Sedai. Chalinda stood, and curtsied. No time like the present to practice humility.

"May I be excused, Nynaeve Sedai?"

"Yes, child," she said stiffly, her eyes drawn to the fire.

* * *

Olwrick propped his feet upon the table in front of him, his boots long discarded and tossed to the floor beside him. He ran his hands over his face, sighing heavily. Light, but things had taken a strange turn lately. Both of his sisters were leaving him. Leaving for Tar Valon. Leaving for greatness.

Dinner had been near unbearable. Everyone had sat in silence, tense, and hyperaware of one-another. Nobody had anything positive to contribute, and Olwrick himself had been lectured when he'd tried to lighten everyone up with a funny story. It was like everyone had suddenly lost their will to be cheerful.

"Thanks a lot, Chalinda," he grumbled softly, to no one in particular. He was alone in a sitting room, lit only by the fireplace to his left.

"Go ahead and channel, but did you have to drag everyone else's mood down with you?"

He fell silent, brooding internally. He would miss the two girls, though saying that aloud would only give them big heads. Now who would he spar with? Gearald wasn't talented in anything but his leather-craft. Tam was too old to spar with… And now, the only person who would chastise him for passing wind would be his mother—if she paid attention enough to notice.

It was going to get real boring around there, without those two girls. He hadn't realized how much they affected him until today. He probably should have treated them better or something, in retrospect. Perhaps spend more time with them.

"Ahh well, Olwrick," he told himself, settling in to the cushioned chair even deeper, "At least now there's two less women telling you what you ought to be doing."

There was quiet laughter from behind him. Olwrick sat up in his chair, and peered around the back to look. His father, Perrin, laughed at him. Olwrick sat back, rolling his eyes outside of his father's view.

"If that's what you think Olwrick, you'll be disappointed," he said, taking up the seat across from him. They shared quiet laughter.

"Da?"

"Hmm?"

"I know it's not much of my concern but… How's Ma handling all of this?" Olwrick asked softly, and sincerely.

"Oh, she's handling it as well as could be expected. Clamming up in the way that she does, and trying to argue with me. But that's just the way she is. Perhaps the way women are, I think. When something's on their mind, they lash out on us. I expect it's because they know we can handle it."

"Since we're the ones with sound heads on our shoulders," put in Olwrick, grinning.

"Don't let your mother hear that. She'll knock us both soundly… Nynaeve, too."

"Are all women so light-blinded insane, Da?"

"Probably, son." Said Perrin, offering a smile.

Olwrick nodded, feeling better. There was also something else playing on his mind. The conversation he had overheard between his parents. In all honesty, it was something that he should not have overheard, and he did feel a little guilty about it. He had listened on Chalinda's behalf—and that had ended up for naught.

"Hey Da," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I ah… I overheard a conversation yesterday, between you and Ma, I think."

"About our successor, right?" said Perrin, knowingly. Olwrick felt a flash of embarrassment; but he kept going. Perrin watched him, measuring him.

"Yeah, and… Well. I told Arryne. I hope that was the right thing to do. Chalinda didn't seem like she was going to, so I said something… It didn't feel right to leave her out. I shouldn't have listened, Da. I'm sorry."

There. He'd said it. He could feel his cheeks burning, but he didn't break eye-contact. This was what a man did when he was wrong; He apologized. Then the right thing to do would be to make it up somehow—he expected he'd get to that bit later—and that was that.

Perrin sat quietly in his chair, leaning back and bringing a hand up to scratch at his beard thoughtfully. Olwrick could see the thoughts whirling in his golden eyes, which seemed to glow against the light of the fireplace.

"I'm glad that you told me," Perrin finally said, "I'm not going to lecture you. Unfortunately, in being nobility requires that you listen in sometimes. I don't like it, but there it is. But you've done the honorable thing in telling me."

"It felt like the right thing to do," said Olwrick softly.

"Well, keep following that gut, son. That's a trait that the Lord of the Two Rivers is going to need, someday."

"Thank you, Da."

Perrin only grunted in reply. He stood up, and stretched. Olwrick heard a few distinctive popping sounds come from him.

"Well," said Perrin gruffly, "I expect your mother wouldn't mind having a… Wouldn't mind talking with me. Be up early tomorrow. I want you shadowing me, most days, from now on."

Perrin made his leave, and Olwrick sat around only a little long before taking cue and heading to bed. He fell asleep easily, his mind put at ease.

* * *

Arryne was a child again. She didn't know why she was a child again, or how it had happened, but she was, and it had. Her tiny, thin legs carried her through tall grass. It seemed to whisper in her passing—a warning against leaving camp. She ignored it, and pressed on. Her pale, silken night gown and matched robes shimmered in the moon light with her form for every movement that she made. Her small feet made little sound In the ground beneath her.

In the distance an owl hooted, calling to some unseen friend of his to come keep him company. Animals were odd like that. They didn't care much for human company, but they sure made a lot of noise if they were left on their own for too long.

In the back of her mind something—and perhaps it was just the foreboding whispers of the grass around her—told her that she shouldn't have left camp. Tam wouldn't be happy at all if he found out, and would surely tell dad if he did. That would end Arryne's trip for sure. '_Well_,_' _she thought, _'I just can't be caught. That's all_.'

She turned though, and found that the campsite was no longer in sight; however the smoke of the campfires were. She knew enough to follow those back if she strayed too far. But that tower… That big, shiny, tower… She had to get to it.

A breeze picked up, and tossed her night dress around her knees. It tickled. She stopped for a moment, to enjoy the comfort of a night. Not many people seemed to understand that night was one big mystery. Always, Arryne was shuttled off to bed for night time. Finally, she had her chance to sneak out and see what she was missing.

The tower loomed closer and closer; Arryne's tiny legs carried her faithfully to her destination. This was, perhaps, the farthest she'd ever been able to adventure by her lonesome. And blood and bloody ashes—she'd heard that word from one of the men who was sent to protect her; it was a bad word and wouldn't be caught saying it in front of any grown-ups, of course.—she was grateful for it.

Finally, the tower was in front of her. Only, she tripped on a stick and found herself tumbling face-first into it. She knocked her head with a thud, landing ungracefully on her stomach with her limbs splayed out, and felt the pang of pain that came with it. Hissing, she crawled to her knees, then stood herself up straight, brushing her night-dress off. Mom wouldn't be pleased with those dirt stains.

Instinctively, she reached for her bronze necklace, which was in the shape of a tiny little dagger. Dad had given it to her. It was her first necklace ever, and he had said that it would protect her, and keep bad things from happening. Dad wouldn't lie to her, so this necklace must really be powerful. He had even made it himself, at his forge.

She stood at the base of the tower, in awe of how the moon reflected so prettily on it. The thing seemed so out of place here, in this field. Arryne was glad that she'd convinced Tam to come this way. She'd heard of this tower loads of times before. It was supposed to be magical, and it lead to a place that one could go and play the Snakes and Foxes game for real.

She fingered the necklace, and then reached out with it, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against the tower. The Tower of Ghenjei hummed in response, filling Arryne with warmth that felt like the summer sun on a clear day. She smiled, and began tracing, with her bronze necklace, the triangle with a wavy line that would begin the game of Snakes and Foxes.

Then Arryne awoke, groaning softly into her pillow. This was not the position for her, for her back was starting to get stiff. She rolled on to her side, squashing her pillow into a more comfortable position, and fell into a deep slumber once more.


	6. 005 - To New Places

**Chapter Five:**

**To New Places**

"You're packing already?" asked Arryne from the doorway.

Chalinda turned back from the bag that lay half-stuffed at the foot of her bed. She patted down the skirts of the pale blue dress nervously. She'd chosen it because of the many small, white bows that lined either side of the bodice—and it's skirts that were divided for riding. The sleeves were embroidered in white to match the bows, and her high neckline was accented pleasantly with pearls.

"Yes Arryne," Chalinda replied softly, "I won't be taking much, I'm afraid. The tower will provide me with dresses once I arrive. At least, that is what Nynaeve Sedai tells me."

"Oh," she said plainly, and entered the room. She helped herself to one of the delicately carved chairs at Chalinda's breakfast table; She spun it around and sat upon it backwards, straddling the thing as she would a horse. Even in her emotional state of discomfort, Chalinda sniffed. How unladylike of her.

"Well, why are you packing so soon, then? It wouldn't take you very long to pack a few things here and there when the time's closer, would it? I mean—since you're not bringing very much with you," said Arryne, shrugging indifferently.

'_Poor Arryne,_' thought Chalinda, noting the subtle tone of desperation in her voice. '_She won't say it, but she's going to miss me, isn't she?_'

Chalinda sat upon the bed, sighing warily. It was difficult to fight the overwhelming wave of feelings when Arryne had brought the subject up so casually—without even meaning to. But Chalinda couldn't—and wouldn't—hold it against her. Arryne did not know or understand how difficult it was to leave home. She'd always wanted to leave, and was like a horse biting at the bit anytime she got a chance to go.

"Arryne, I haven't told you yet, I'm sorry," she said sincerely, reaching an arm out to place her own tiny hand on Arryne's calloused ones. She looked up at Chalinda with her eyebrows furrowed, and her only normal eye reminded her of a lost wolf pup. The other remained blackened and emotionless.

"Tell me what? Oh Light, Chalinda. You're leaving tonight, aren't you?" she asked softly.

"I am," Chalinda replied.

Chalinda felt for her sister, who suddenly went quiet, and dropped her gaze. She watched her older sister fidget with the belt that had been strapped across her chest. Sometime since last night, she'd begun carrying two blades rather than one. Odd.

"I'll miss you, Arryne," she said.

"Aw, Light, Chalinda. I'm going to miss you too," Arryne replied, refusing to meet Chalinda's gaze. Chalinda gave her thick, calloused hands a comforting squeeze. Arryne turned her hand so that her palm met Chalinda's and then returned the gesture snugly.

"Blood and bloody ashes, woman, you haven't given me much time…" she said quietly, her gaze stubbornly unmoving from the floor.

Her comment made Chalinda pause. Given her enough time?

"What are you up to, Arryne?" she asked deliberately, removing her hands. Arryne stood and pushed her chair in carefully. She shrugged her shoulders and gave Chalinda one of her grins that said 'I'm going to pretend that I'm not up to no good.'

"Arryne?" she asked, tailing her to the door she'd left standing open. "Arryne!"

Chalinda stretched her hand out to grab ahold of her pale yellow shirt, but missed. Arryne did not look back as she slid from the room and stalked her way down the hall towards her own room. Chalinda did not follow her, but instead stood in front of her own room fighting back the sudden wave of tears that threatened to overcome her. Burn her, but Arryne made her feel terrible for pushing her traveling date up.

* * *

Sighing in resignation, Chalinda went back into her room. She closed the door behind her, and sat, numbly, next to the half-packed leather bag on her bed. The bright sunlight and the sounds of the summer birds that pooled in from outside of her windows did nothing to lighten her mood.

The moment Arryne stepped through the door of her room, she set herself to work. She didn't have much time. If Chalinda would be leaving tonight, then Arryne had to be prepared to follow roughly an hour afterwards. She would give herself time enough to be seen by her parents—enough time to ease their minds. She swore quietly at herself for not having been more prepared. A lesson learned.

"Burn you, Chalinda," she hissed under her breath, "I love you, girl. But blood and bloody ashes you've mucked my plans all up. I thought I had a few days yet to plan this better."

Arryne located the bag she'd often used for her training swords, bows, and stiff leather bracers and emptied it hastily at the foot of her bed—then hesitated. She set aside her bow and leather bracers. She might need those later. She then opened her wardrobe and began pushing aside her brother's old clothes—most had not a few stains and a hole or two from when she'd fallen or gotten it caught on a twig while gallivanting through the forests nearby. She located the outfit she'd worn on the day Chalinda had fallen ill and stuffed that into the bag.

A knock at her door made her jump.

"Who is it?" she called, crouching down and hastily sliding the offending objects, including the bag, underneath the wooden posts of her bed.

"It's me, Olwrick. Can I come in?"

"Oh Light, Olwrick. You startled me. Yeah, come on," she said, heaving a sigh of relief. She stood up straight, and adjusted her shit that had begun riding up underneath the belt that held her second blade.

Olwrick pushed the door open slowly and peeked his head in suspiciously before stepping in and closing the door quietly behind him. He was dressed extravagantly today; he even wore a coat. His lacey shirt sleeves contrasted the dark colors of his well-fitted breeches and matching coat nicely. Arryne gave him a lopsided smirk and plopped down on her mattress.

Her room was nothing like her sisters. Where Chalinda's bed was always made, primly, by servants, Arryne insisted that she made hers herself—the green bedspreads were often wrinkled and were rarely folded in the perfect ways that they were supposed to have been. Her pillows were lopsided and her top-sheet hung out on both sides at opposite ends. Clothing littered the floor, and there were more than a few foot prints that she'd tracked upon the carpet with her boots—which were in an unorganized mess of a pile in a corner near her wardrobe.

Olwrick eyed the mess with amusement, and helped himself to a chair at Arryne's unused breakfast table. That, too, was different from her sisters; hers being angular where Chalinda had insisted on circular. Arryne wondered some days how her and Chalinda could have been born into the same families; They were so different.

"Arryne," Olwrick said, his head turning about to take in her room—Arryne couldn't remember a time before that he'd had reason to be in it, "Chalinda's leaving tonight. I only just found out this morning."

"I know," she said, sliding her bag from beneath the bed. She returned to her sorting in the wardrobe, "I just found out."

"Did you? I'm late then. Sorry about that," he said, giving her a sideways glance.

"You're fine, Olwrick. But I really must be ready when she is. Oh, and I'll need your help, by the way."

"With what?" he asked, his full attention finally falling on her.

Arryne spun from the wardrobe with a dark green vest, and a plain tan tunic in hand. She stuffed those into the bag.

"A distraction, of some sort. Nothing big, or they'll pick up on it. I don't like bringing more troubles to their tables, but I can't have either of them trying to stop me," she said, returning to the wardrobe.

"Arryne, slow down. You're making me jumpy," he said. Arryne appreciated the attempt in easing her nerves, but she had no time for that, either.

"I can't, Olwrick. I wasn't ready. I mis-planned what I am going to do. When exactly is she going to be leaving?" she asked, removing more clothes from her wardrobe and tossing them into the bag.

Olwrick did not answer her immediately. Arryne paused in her movements, and understood why.

She cursed herself, silently, for not having made him lock the door after him. Another mistake. Her mother had silently entered while she had been too busy packing to realize it. She had an unreadable expression upon her face that left Arryne with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Olwrick sat there, with a dumb expression on his face with his mouth hanging open. He seemed frozen to the chair.

Faile calmly closed the door behind her, then stood, waiting. Her eyes measured the two of them, and though Arryne was not much shorter than her, she felt like a small child that was about to receive a lashing for getting into the pie cabinet one too many times.

"Ma I-" began Arryne, but stopped mid-sentence at the upraised hand of her mother.

"Do you take me for a fool, daughter?" she asked quietly.

"No Ma, I—"

"Do you take your father for a fool?"

"No! Mother, I'm—" she tried to explain.

"Then why, did you think for an _instant_ that we would let you go?" she asked—then added, "Without provisions?"

Arryne stood there, dumbfounded. '_What?!_' The bundle of clothing in her hands fell to the floor, and her hands hung at her sides limply. From his place in his chair, Olwrick made a choking sound that ended with a quiet coughing fit.

"What?"

"Arryne. We are not fools. We are not oblivious to your scheming—or your siblings'," she said stepping further into the room. She gestured to the mess on the floor, "We know you do not intend to listen to us Arryne. Do you think we were not young once, too? Do you think _I_ was not young once?"

Arryne stood there, cheeks burning, and feeling a fool. Her gaze dropped to the floor. Her mother had this way about her—making someone feel as if they always should have known better—and she should have. Her father, though not easy, could be slid around, and hidden from. But her mother… Arryne should have known that she could not have gotten past her.

"Arryne, look at me," she said. Arryne forced her gaze upwards. Her mother placed a hand on either side of Arryne's face, and stared her straight in the eye. "Do you know how I met your father? I ran away from home—seeking adventure. Seeking glory. I found too much. But I survived. We know that we cannot stop you."

"I've already spoken with your father, daughter," she continued, "Though he is not happy, he will not try to stop you. We will not try and stop you. We will see you off with your sister. Nynaeve will take Chalinda to the white tower, and you will be led by Lan."

Arryne felt something blossom in her stomach—another thing she was not used to feeling too often; Something she hadn't felt since her first memories in the kitchens. Joy. Pure, un-fogged, joy. She threw her arms around her mother in a crushing hug, and did the only thing she knew to be appropriate in times as this:

She squealed.

And then she laughed.

She could feel her mother laughing with her, and felt Faile's hands come up to her head, where she patted her hair warmly.

"I love you, daughter. I would not cage a fox that so desperately yearns for the freedom of the forest."

"Thank you Ma," said Arryne, releasing her and taking a step back. She could not help but beam, though the blossoming feeling in her stomach had already faded. She reached a hand up to fiddle with the belt across her chest, suddenly unable to keep still.

"However," said Faile, "You are not leaving without the proper attire of a warder. I've spoken with Lan. You will have a bag of clothing delivered to you by this evening—when you will be leaving—and I fully expect you to take it with you."

This day just got better and better. Arryne nodded, a silly grin plastered stupidly to her face. So, not only did she have permission, but she'd get an entire new wardrobe to boot? This day's events had turned out quite differently than she had expected.

"Of course, Ma. I'll wear whatever you want me to," she said, then with afterthought added, "except a dress."

Faile sniffed, and rested a hand on her daughter's head, shaking her own.

"I know a losing battle when I see one, child. Now, I must go see to your sister," she sighed, then spun, skirts rustling, and opened the door. She glanced back and said, "Olwrick, your new sword will be here today with Arryne's bag. We have not forgotten about you, either."

Once the door closed behind Faile, Arryne slowly turned to look at her brother, who wore the same dumb expression that he had at the beginning of the conversation. Finally, as if registering that it had ended, and Faile finally left, he shook his head, and worked his mouth—it must have gone dry. He stared at Arryne blankly for a few moments; Then he broke into a grin, which Arryne shared with him.

"I'm going to the white tower!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"I'm getting my new sword today!" he replied enthusiastically.

* * *

Chalinda did nothing to acknowledge her mother's presence when she entered the room. She simply sat, motionless and numb, at the end of her bed—where she'd been seated since chasing Arryne out of her room. Her mind seemed to want to think of everything, but nothing, all at once. She'd been staring down at her hands for some time now.

Faile closed the door behind her without a sound, and sat down next to Chalinda quietly. She did not speak, or ask her what was on her mind, or demand answers. Chalinda, distantly, appreciated that. She would miss that about her mother. She would miss everything about her mother. Had Faile always worn such a delicate smelling perfume?

The two of them sat there like that, unmoving, and unspeaking. Chalinda basked in that silence. She used that silence as a shield. She needed it. She refused to break—to bend. Chalinda mustn't. She had to be strong. For honor, for her family. For herself. If she did not, what use would she be, then? She glanced towards her window. The sun had noticeably moved.

'_I have to finish packing,_' she thought dismally. But she did not move.

"It will be alright, Chalinda," Faile finally said quietly.

Startled by the sudden sound, Chalinda jerked her gaze to her mother, who stared intensely at her. Perhaps it was because she was startled, or perhaps it was because of the sheer intensity of her mother's gaze; Chalinda broke.

Tears poured from her eyes, and she could almost physically feel her heart breaking in anguish. A sob racked her frame, and she found herself burying her face into the palms of her hands.

Faile's hand found its way to her back, and soothingly, she rubbed at it; Just as she had done the day Chalinda had begun vomiting sporadically at the tailor's. Chalinda kept sobbing, and she could feel her face soaking itself. Her tears were hot, and her face contorted almost painfully.

"I don't—" she coughed, "I don't want to leave!"

"I know, Chalinda. I know," her mother said softly, pulling Chalinda into her warm embrace—just as she'd done often when Chalinda was but a child.

"I'll miss you guys so much, Mother!" she wailed, "I'm not ready for this! I'm not! I'm not ready to leave home, or—or," she hiccupped, "Or to be an Aes Sedai. I'm not ready to be that!"

Faile's arms around her grew tighter, and she felt her mother's lips move against her hair.

"We never are, dearest. We never are," she soothed, "But I promise you, Chalinda, you will be fine. You will be strong."

Though her eyes kept pouring tears, Chalinda's sobs subsided a bit. Her grief-stricken wails grew quieter, and she spoke with no bodily interruptions.

"What if I'm not, Ma? What if I'm too young? What if I make mistakes?" she asked feebly, burying her face against her mother's neckline.

"You will make mistakes, daughter. We all do. We are human. Without our mistakes, we would learn nothing. You will do well, Chalinda. You _will_. I demand it of you," she said, pulling away. Chalinda felt herself slipping again, as her mother lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes.

"I'm scared, Ma," she whimpered.

"And it is okay to be scared," said Faile, her other hand dusting away stray hairs from Chalinda's forehead, "And it is okay to cry. Do not let them take that from you. Always protect your heart, for when you have nothing else my daughter, it will guide you."

Chalinda instinctively reached a hand to her chest. As she did, she felt the pain in it ease. The tears slowed, then stopped. She would be okay. She would miss her family, but they would miss her also; and someday, she would return.

"I'm really leaving," she whispered. Finally, it had sunk in. Finally, it was not another girl who was leaving, and Chalinda who stayed. Her, Chalinda, was leaving. She was going to the white tower, and did not know when she was coming home—but she would. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her dress, setting her good manners aside for her emotions.

"I am proud of you, Chalinda," said Faile, stroking the nape of her skull with tenderness, "I am so very proud."

"I'm not really sure why," she said, laughing sadly, "All I've done is mope around the house and cry about what I can't control."

"There are times when that is all you can do," said Faile wisely, "Now cheer up. You have people who are anxious to say goodbye to you."

Chalinda's practiced posture returned, and she found that her head was clearing up—something that it had not been able to do since she'd gotten the news that she would be leaving. It had been as if she'd donned a cap of thick, grey wool atop her head. Chalinda sat up straighter, and squared her shoulders. She wiped her face again, and sniffled one last time. She put her usual mask of calm composure on, and offered her mother a wry smile.

"Of course, Mother. I'll wash my face then be right down to appease them," said Chalinda. Faile nodded in approval, and stood, running her hands down her skirts to straighten them. Chalinda noted a spot of wetness on Faile's neckline that she seemed determined to ignore. Chalinda felt pride swell inside of her; pride for her mother, and pride for herself.

* * *

When she got downstairs, Chalinda was not surprised to find a small group of Two Rivers citizens waiting for her. Upon seeing her, young men and women greeted her cheerfully, with raised glasses and warm smiles. She recognized them as people whose parents had, in the past, called upon her mother for advice; who then in turn had brought Chalinda to the bargaining table so she could begin making decisions.

Though she felt a small stab of sorrow for having to leave them, the unified gesture on her behalf made her smile. She would miss all of them—not as individuals, as cruel as it seemed; but what they represented. If she were not leaving, these would be her people. An extension of herself—like her children. The Two Rivers was her home. She shook the feeling that she was abandoning them from her shoulders, and began mingling.

* * *

Arryne's afternoon passed peacefully—if not anxiously. She'd spent the better part of her day pacing around in her room, alternating between packing her leather training bag and sitting at the foot of her bed, nervously twiddling her calloused thumbs. She'd changed shirts not a few times, and her trousers twice. Olwrick had forewarned her of the party that would be thrown in Chalinda's honor in the foyer below. Arryne had, for the occasion, dug out the clothing she'd gotten from the tailor's the day Chalinda vomited from her bag.

Faile had long since entered the room and placed before her a pair of stiff, new, knee-high boots with a hawk and snake engraved into the dark, shiny leather. The heel was fresh, and the toes had no scuff marks. Though Arryne was not one for new clothing, she could understand the appeal. She did not put them on for Faile's sake alone.

Arryne passed time by polishing both of her blades and then rubbing oils into the leather of their respective scabbards. The one that went on her back hadn't needed it—but she'd done it any for the sake of having something to do.

She was impatient. She wanted to leave _now_. She wanted to strap on her bags, wave her goodbyes, and leave for Tar Valon as soon as she could. Waiting patiently was not something that Arryne did exceptionally well.

Finally, after almost an hour of pacing in her new boots, she could take no more. She flung her bedroom door open and, ignoring the festivities below her, made her way to her father's study. Despite her mother's reassurance, Arryne felt that she needed to speak with her father.

She knocked heavily, without meaning to, then stood silently outside of his door unsure if Perrin was in there, or mingling with the guests below. Then, the door opened, and her father's piercing golden eyes stared down at her.

He stepped back, and gestured for her to enter. The door closed quietly behind her, stifling the noise from below. Arryne made herself comfortable In one of the chairs in front of Perrin's desk. She fidgeted, quietly, while Perrin took his own seat. A candle was burning next to a stack of papers that he must have been going over before she'd knocked.

In the flickering light, Arryne could see the shadows of age creeping onto his face.

'_He won't last forever,_' Arryne realized, watching him quietly. He had already gone back to reading over the papers before him, his forefinger tracing what he was reading line by line. His brow furrowed, and his lips pursed.

"Da," she said softly, scooting forward in her chair. She was much shorter than him, and his desk dwarfed her while she sat. He grunted in reply.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for disappointing you," she murmured, her sharp eyes watching for some kind of reaction. She received none. Perrin continued to stare down at his work.

"I'm sorry for planning what I did. I just… I feel useless, Da. I feel like I'm not going anywhere," she explained softly, "I feel like… Well, like a caged animal."

That got a reaction out of him. Perrin looked up sharply, and his eyes seemed to glower. Suddenly, the wolf-banner that hung over many of the buildings in the Two Rivers made sense. He seemed more beast than man, in that moment. If this man were not her father, someone that she knew she was safe around, Arryne might have been terrified for her life.

Arryne did not feel terrified, however. She did not lean back in her chair, or back down. She met his fierce gaze, with a sturdy, determined stare of her own.

Finally, Perrin sighed, and fell back into his chair warily. He ran a hand through his curly hair, and then through his beard.

"Arryne… It was never my intent to cage you. Light, girl. You and your mother are almost one in the same," he said, his voice rumbling deeply, "You two accept authority as much as any king would."

"I wanted to keep you safe, Arryne," he continued, "I wanted to protect you. I still do. But you've clearly gone ahead and made up your mind." He went quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"You were bound to leave eventually. I'm no fool. I knew it was going to happen. I don't like it, but I knew it." Perrin sounded tired, very suddenly. He shook his head as he spoke, "I've seen what a cage can do to a man—to a spirit like yours. It's no good. Traveling is in your blood, I'm afraid," he finished, lacing his hands together on the desk before him.

"I feel something pulling me, Da," said Arryne, "I feel… Well, I don't know how to rightfully say it. But I feel it. I feel the need to run, to _move_. To do something. I don't know what yet, but I guess that I'll figure it out when I get to it."

"Just… Don't get yourself killed doing it."

"I won't, Da. That's something that I feel too—that I'm missing something. I won't be going down so easily until I get it back."

Perrin did not reply, but only nodded. He understood, Light, but he understood. Arryne offered him a small smile, and gestured to the strap over her chest.

"Look Da, Olwrick's friend gave this to me," she said.

"I've noticed. Taking a liking to two blades, then?"

"Aye. It's more comfortable. I feel open to attack when I've only got one."

"Did Tam teach you that?" he asked, returning her smile.

"Nah. Ma did—with daggers, though. I just sort of applied it to the sword. It works about the same. It's almost like a dance," she explained.

Perrin grunted, then said, "I don't rightfully know of too many people fighting like that. But times are changing…."

"It feels right."

"Then do it. And don't do anything that doesn't feel that way," said Perrin firmly.

"I won't, Da."

"I have something for you," he suddenly said, and reached down into the pocket of his trousers. He grunted, and pulled out something small, with a metal chain that glittered pleasantly in the candlelight.

"Elayne made it, years ago," he explained, reaching out to place it in Arryne's outstretched hands, "Originally for her Queen's guard. It's not as good as the original, I hear. But, well… Since you're off to deal with channelers, I figure this might be useful."

Arryne held the necklace to the light, and let out a soft 'oh' of admiration. Hanging from the chain was a small, circular, fox-head medallion. It tugged at her mind, and Arryne was instantly reminded of the fog that clouded her memories. She quickly slid it over her head, and around her neck.

"What does it do?" she asked, fingering it absently. She looked back from the medallion, to her father's face, which held an affectionate glow.

"It helps protect against anyone channeling on you. It won't hold off strong weaves, but small ones, those will fall right off of you. At least, that's what Mat says."

"You mean, that gambler that you went adventuring with?" she asked.

Perrin laughed loudly, causing Arryne to jump.

"Indeed so, Arryne. Mat got one on a trip into the Tower of Ghenjei," he said, looking nostalgic, "And well…" He became solemn again, "Maybe one of these little medallions will help you, too."

"Thanks, Da," she said sincerely, her hand never leaving it. It was cool to the touch, despite all of the playing with it that she did. Why did it tickle her memory?

They fell into a comfortable silence, then, clearing his throat, Perrin stood up and gestured to the door.

"That party down there. It's not just for your sister, you know," he stated.

"Oh."

"Go make your appearances so we can send them on their way. I'd like to have my family to myself for a while yet before you two leave."

Arryne stood, and gave the towering figure that was her father a hug. She squeezed him tight, and buried her face into the rough material of his shirt. She would miss him.

"Okay, Da. I love you," she said.

"I love you, Arryne. Now go on. Go make sure your sister's head hasn't gotten too big."

"Oh," said Arryne devilishly, as she pulled his door open. Light pooled into the dim room, illuminating her wicked grin, "I will, Da."

Arryne slid from the room with new vigor, and made for the stairs. She stalked down the hallway as she would through the woods, careful to keep the new heels from making any noise. When she got to them, she stood in the shadow of the railing for a while, watching her sister float from small group, to small group.

Perrin was right. Chalinda did have a big head. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was laughing daintily at a joke that did not reach Arryne's ears. Arryne smirked, deviously. She loved her sister, and would do nothing to harm her. That, fortunately, did not include stealing her thunder from time to time. Besides, she and Olwrick would share a good laugh about this later. It was time to pull one final grandeur move before she left home. They would remember Arryne, too.

In one swift motion, Arryne leapt from her position in the shadows, and into a seated position on the railing. She swung her legs to give herself a boost and went sliding down into the crowd.

* * *

"-Irresponsible!" yelled Faile. Arryne shrank back her chair, fearing that the woman might just reach over and box her across the ears.

Her grand slide into the foyer had not been welcomed as well as Arryne would have hoped. There had been gasps, and a few whoops from the boys her age, however Nynaeve Sedai and her mother had only glowered, eyes wide and faces turning brilliant shades of crimson. Arryne had enjoyed the rest of the gathering in peace, knowing fully well what she'd be getting when it was all said and done.

The moment the last of the party's guests had exited the home, Faile had bellowed for her. Arryne, who had been dreading that moment, had followed her mother into the study sullenly. The rant had begun as soon as the door had snapped closed. She'd been cornered, then practically chased around the room before Arryne had collapsed into the closest chair.

"You could have hurt someone! You could have hurt yourself! You were not raised by animals, Arryne! I'm appalled," she ranted, her hands placed firmly at her hips. She was almost bent over with her face in Arryne's, who willed silently for the chair to devour her.

"M'sorry Ma," she said meekly.

"I could strike you, girl!" she continued, "I really could! It is nothing but the fact that you are _leaving_ in only an hour that I don't!"

"I know," she said.

"Quiet!" Faile snapped, "I don't want to hear a word! You go upstairs and get your belongings. Bring them down and set them with the clothes that were delivered today. You don't speak a _word_ to anyone. Anyone, Arryne! Then you go and find your sister to apologize to her. You scared the Light out of the girl."

"Yes Ma," said Arryne obediently, grateful for any excuse to slip from the heated gaze of her raging mother. She bounded from the room, almost barreling into her father who tried his best to keep the amusement from his face. He winked as she passed. She stopped long enough to watch him enter her mother's study, closing the door behind him. She immediately heard Faile's powerful voice through the door. Arryne fled for the stairs.

Unfortunately, her lectures were not over. Chalinda was waiting for Arryne in her room.

"You're a fool," she said, shaking her head. She sat primly on one of the chairs at Arryne's breakfast table—the very chair Olwrick had occupied earlier that day.

The dim evening light was no longer powerful enough to come through the windows, and servants had entered the room sometime before Arryne had to light her lamps. The room was warm, borderline stuffy; but brightly lit. The belongings that Arryne had tossed to the floor earlier that day had been put away—probably during her mingling at Chalinda's party.

Well. Sort of mingling. She'd really spent most of her time with Olwrick and Gearald, discussing in hushed voices about what her life would be like as a warder.

"I know," said Arryne lightly. She plopped herself down on her bed, and was rewarded with the groan of the wood that had been plopped on over and over again before.

"You're a Light-Blinded idiot," said Chalinda.

"I know," replied Arryne.

"That looked really fun though," admitted Chalinda, leaning forward from her chair, "How did you know that you weren't going to fall?"

Arryne laughed, and waved her hand. Truthfully, she didn't know. She could have fallen and hit a guest, or worse, broken a bone. Her trip to the white tower surely would have been put off—if not cancelled altogether—then.

"Balance," she said sagely, "I have the balance of a gleeman."

"Gleemen don't go sliding down banisters," said Chalinda pointedly.

"This one does," said Arryne between guffaws.

"I'm glad that you're coming with me," said Chalinda, once Arryne's laughter had quieted down. Arryne noticed that her sister's face was sincere, and so she got up enough to give her a hug; Which Chalinda returned surprisingly snugly.

"Yeah, yeah. I can't have you going off and landing yourself with a boy who might mistreat you," joked Arryne, gesturing to the sword on her back.

"Oh Light, Arryne. I'm not going to be around any boys for years," replied Chalinda sadly, "And just when I'm marrying age, too."

"Oh come off it," snorted Arryne, "You'll have little warders following you around, begging for you to bond them. Just give it time. You'll be beating them off of your skirts with a stick."

Chalinda sniffed, and sat even straighter—if possible—in her chair. However, the corners of her mouth were upturned.

"You really think so?" she asked, feigning modesty.

"I'll be a beatin' them off for you," Arryne promised solemnly, holding a hand to her heart. Chalinda, laughing, made a rather unladylike gesture in response.

The two of them spent the last of their time together in a relaxed manner. If Arryne didn't know any better, it would have felt like this was not their last evening in the Two Rivers at all. They shared jokes, and laughter, and spoke of old memories that mostly included times that either Arryne or Olwrick had gotten themselves a lecture from their parents.

Arryne, in truth, would miss nights like these. Everything would, from the next day onward, be changing. The freedom to do what she wanted, and when, would disappear the moment an Aes Sedai had taken interest in her. For all of her talk of freedom, it seemed ironic that she sought a bond to keep her chained to another person.

But it was something, and it was what her heart told her to do. So she would do it.

When their hour was up, Arryne followed Chalinda from her bedroom and down the stairs with her training bag hefted over her shoulders. She eyed the banister as she went down the stairs. Sliding down had been fun, and would make a good memory to think back on at a later time.

Nynaeve, Lan, and the rest of her family stood in front of the door in a large half-circle. Olwrick looked positively miserable, and Perrin mirrored that image subtly. His shoulders were hunched a bit, and his golden eyes did not shimmer in the way they did when he was happy. Faile seemed to act as the back-bone of the family; Standing with her shoulders square and her jaw set in a way that said 'You guys might be leaving, but do not think I cannot reach you where you'll be.'

The lot of them were dressed in their best clothes. Perrin, even, had changed into a white shirt with lace on the sleeves, and wore over it a deep red coat. His boots shined, and his trousers were tucked neatly into them. Faile wore a dark, green velvet dress with a low, V-shaped neckline. Olwrick was dressed in a way that mirrored his father, the only difference in their outfits being the amount of lace on Olwrick's sleeves.

Chalinda glided across the floor, her skirts rustling, to her mother, who wrapped her in a long embrace. When Chalinda pulled back, Arryne noted that she was dotting at her eyes with a handkerchief. She hugged her father, then Olwrick who must have whispered something, for Chalinda slapped him in the arm with a grin.

Then, it was Arryne's turn. She set her bag down at her feet, stepped over it, and squeezed her mother tight. Despite the lecture she'd earned herself earlier, her mother whispered quiet words of encouragement to her. Arryne thanked her, and paused before moving on to her father.

There were thoughts whirling in his head—Arryne could practically see that in his eyes. Perrin opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head with a grunt, and instead pulled Arryne into a rough hug. He thumped her back as he would his son.

Olwrick's hug was the shortest, and ended with Arryne punching him in the arm.

"So you don't forget that I can give you a run for your coin any time," said Arryne thickly, with a grin. Olwrick shook his head, muttering something about women being insane. That earned him another punch in the arm.

Arryne turned her attention to the line of servants against the northernmost wall—the entrance to the kitchens—and gave them a wave. Many of them waved back, or gave her a respectful nod.

'_They're probably glad to see me go,_' thought Arryne with amusement, '_There'll be less mud being tracked about the house._'

The family shared their goodbyes while Arryne picked her bag up from the floor. She hefted it over her shoulders again, and offered them all a smile. Chalinda spoke to her mother quietly, nodded, then made her way over to the pregnant Aes Sedai.

"We will take good care of them," said Nynaeve, giving Perrin and Faile a nod. She put a hand on Chalinda's shoulder, who glanced up at her with mild surprise.

"Oh, don't I know it," said Perrin, "Just don't let them drive you insane."

From Nynaeve's side, Chalinda sniffed—earning her a look from the Aes Sedai. Chalinda fell quiet once more, and Nynaeve's hand dropped back down to her side.

"It was good seeing you again," Perrin continued, nodding to Lan. He returned the gesture, and eyed Arryne who had not fallen into place beside him. She had no intention of doing so, and squared her shoulders to indicate as such. His gaze sharpened, though Arryne could not place any difference In his posture.

Lan said nothing more, but spun on his heel and was the first out the front door, seemingly checking for anything that could be considered dangerous to his Aes Sedai—and to Arryne's surprise when she had heard—his wife. Nynaeve, then Chalinda followed him through the door and into the darkness outside. Arryne hesitated for a few moments, then with one final wave, tailed after them.

She almost walked into Chalinda, who had paused only a few paces beyond the entrance—and exit—of their home. Arryne rounded her, and gave her a questioning look. Chalinda only shook her head, and started moving. Arryne noticed that Chalinda had been wearing divided riding skirts this whole time.

Arryne was the last of their group to mount her horse—Four of them had been brought out front to wait for them, including the two Nynaeve and Lan had arrived on—and the last in the line of slow clopping down the busy roads of the Two Rivers towards the travelling grounds. She'd been given a brown mare, who snorted loudly any time that group paused because of civilian traffic.

Lan road ahead by a few lengths, and Chalinda spoke quietly and incoherently to the Aes Sedai next to her. That left Arryne alone to her thoughts. While one hand held the reins idly, the other played with the cool metal of the fox head medallion. It was an odd gift, seeing as she was going to the white tower and all, but that was not the reason that it baffled her so. Still, Arryne could not place why it reminded her so much of her dream the night before.

The group passed through the center-most road through town; a road that was still alive in the night with the sounds of dicing and drinking from the many inns that lined it. Arryne watched stars twinkle in and out of focus overhead, and committed these final moments in the Two Rivers to her memory. The sounds of summer bugs, and the barking of dogs in the distance. The smells of cooked meats and hearty stews pouring from open windows. The sounds of laughter of serving women, and the nods of the hired toughs outside of inn doors.

Silently, she bid The Two Rivers farewell.


	7. 006 - A Rough Start

**_[A/N: _**_Oh gosh, guys. I'm really sorry for the completely sporadic update times. I've been going through hell of a time in my life right now; I'm in the process of moving, and I've unfortunately come down with some sort of cold that just doesn't want to seem to let go of me. Nnngh. That being said, I'm so sorry if my writing style has seemed to have taken a bit of change in direction. It feels like I'm not thinking very clearly right now, and my words tend to get rather jumbled when I try writing something. I think that I'm going to take a few days before I try to finish up chapter seven and chapter eight (Yes, I promise that I do work on them- it's just uploading them that's been the problem as of recently). That being said, these past few chapters have been uploaded without the consult of my beta reader (after I finally checked my email and noticed that there were actually people reading this-HOLY CRAP!- I rushed to get them uploaded). Your support has been amazing. Thank you so much! And sorry for the terribly long rant. ^_^; _**]**

* * *

**Chapter Six:**

**A Rough Start**

Chalinda and her party crossed through the glowing gateway and into the quiet grounds of the White Tower. The sudden change in the sounds of hoof beats startled her; from soft, dirt road to hard, stark stone. The air smelled different here, too. Her horse whinnied softly, and Chalinda reached a hand down to pat at her neck reassuringly. '_It's okay,_' she thought, '_I'm nervous too._'

Immediately upon passing through, Chalinda allowed herself a tiny gasp of awe. She heard Arryne imitate it from behind her.

Before them, the White Tower loomed, reflecting brightly in the moonlight. Its walls were stark white, and shimmered with a power that Chalinda could not place; but she could _feel_ it. It was gargantuan. Chalinda had never seen anything so massive in her entire life. The stones in which it was constructed seemed like they had always been there, and would continue to be so long after their lifetimes.

What Chalinda had read in books, and observed in maps could not have prepared her for this sight—even in the dim lighting of nighttime. Not a few buildings dotted the Tower grounds, dwarfed in the shadow of the great structure; and she could hear, in the distance, the quiet heartbeat of the city beyond the walls that surrounded the perimeter of the grounds. Chalinda could smell the sweet and earthy scent of a garden, from somewhere nearby. Crickets chirped, and somewhere from beyond her sight, an owl called out.

They had exited the gateway in a courtyard that Chalinda presumed was designated specifically for Traveling. Next to where they had entered, roughly a span away, other spots with dark scorches on the ground were roped off with armed guards standing at the end of a short but wide dirt pathway that led from them. Further beyond that was a two-story tall (judging from the glowering windows of the upper floor) guardsmen tower of some sort. Merrymaking could be heard from a door that had been left ajar. A low, stone wall reflected the starlight and encompassed the entirety of the travelling grounds.

The courtyard around them was quiet. A line of guards passed, wearing white tabards over shining breastplates. On their backs was outlined the white flame of Tar Valon. They carried torches and swords at their waists, and each one nodded respectfully to Nynaeve in passing. A few of them squared their shoulders, and walked a bit straighter. Chalinda noted a red-haired lad that leaned over and whispered something to the man in front of him, and the smiles that came afterwards. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the otherwise inactive clearing.

"Lan, will you take care of Arryne?" asked Nynaeve from her horse. A man in marked livery appeared from seemingly nowhere, and had begun leading them on stone paths through the grounds. Chalinda noted Arryne murmuring softly to her own horse, who had begun nickering uneasily.

"I'd rather wait until morning," he replied, "So we can plead her case."

Nynaeve gave him a nod, and pulled her horse in to a halt next to a mounting block. They had arrived at the stables—or at least near them, judging from the smell. Lan halted his horse and swiftly swung off and was at her side in seconds, helping the pregnant Aes Sedai to the ground. Chalinda swung off of her own horse, and suppressed a minor spike of irritation at Arryne, who was already on her feet, readjusting her bags.

More men in livery appeared to take their horses from them, bowing low as they did. Nynaeve took a moment to straighten out her skirts, then gestured for Chalinda to follow her.

"Come child," she said and set off towards the tower.

Chalinda hesitated, glancing at Arryne who gave her a reassuring smile and a nod that told her to go. In the dark, Chalinda could only see half of her sisters face; she seemed nervous herself. She swallowed, dryly, and tailed after the Aes Sedai, clutching her own small bag close to her chest.

They walked, silently, for a time. Chalinda's nerves were getting the better of her, and her stomach filled uncontrollably with butterflies. The night suddenly seemed overwhelming; the shadows of the buildings towering over her casted a cold shiver down her spine. She had to walk faster than she was used to in order to keep up with Nynaeve. Her footsteps seemed to carry outrageously loudly in the night, setting her further on edge.

"Keep your head down," said Nynaeve suddenly, and without looking back, "Do as they tell you. It might hurt, in your heart, but do it. You'll be burning your clothes. I thought you might appreciate the heads up. Just keep to your lessons. Got it?"

"Are you leaving me?" asked Chalinda, filling with panic.

"I must. You must take this journey alone. The tower has no need of me as long as I am with child. You must listen to me, Chalinda. And listen well. They will shape you into Aes Sedai. They will shape your views of the world—Do _not_ lose yourself in their politics."

"How long will you be gone?" Chalinda asked, her voice shrill. Her palms had begun to sweat, and she found that her legs felt much like giving up on her. She struggled to keep her stride. Where had her confidence gone?

"I won't be back for some time, Child. Use your honorifics. You will be punished if you don't."

They were then in the center of a wide, stark courtyard. Chalinda could see a few women donning shawls in the dark, moving obliviously about their business. Nynaeve did not slow her brisk pace. Chalinda felt her throat catch, and she began to tremble.

At the end of the path they were on, two great doors stood as a menacing omen of what was to come. They had made their way across almost the entirety of the Tower grounds, and were now at a towering, palace-like building that seemed to branch from the tower—it did not appear built. It seemed like it had _grown_ from the Tower. It's shadow in the moonlight seemed to grasp at Chalinda's skirts.

"Nynaeve Sedai! Please! What's going to happen to me?" Chalinda asked desperately.

Nynaeve suddenly stopped, spinning so fast that her skirts had to catch up to her. She put a hand on either of Chalinda's shoulders to keep her from running into the woman. Chalinda was almost gasping for air, and her eyes did not seem to focus on any one thing for very long. She wanted to cry.

"Breathe, Child. Calm down. You will be okay. Life will be harsh for you. Very harsh. I am sorry. But you will be rewarded with an honor so great… It is indescribable. Do not run away."

"Where would I go?" she asked dumbly. Her mind had gone frighteningly blank, and the only thing she felt was paralyzing fear.

"It does not matter, Child. Promise me. Do _not run away!_ Life will be that much worse if you do," she said softly.

"I won't run, Nynaeve Sedai," promised Chalinda. Her voice was shaky.

"Good. Now, come. The Mistress of Novices is expecting you," she said, releasing Chalinda from her grasp and picking up her brisk pace once more.

They passed through the great doors quietly, and Chalinda tried to steel herself. She had to regain control. It wouldn't do to be presented to the Tower in such a state. While she walked, she tried to calm her breathing, and focused her eyes on nothing more than the path in front of her. She clutched at her small bag tighter, however.

Chalinda was surprised to find that once they had passed through the doors, they were not inside any building, but passing through iron-railed galleries in which other, smaller, buildings were contained. They passed a meager excuse for a garden which only contained a few bushes, and through another set of doors on the far side from where they had entered. That courtyard was empty too.

The plain, unadorned hallway in which they had entered this time was well lit, with lamps flickering brightly at periodic intervals on the walls; their long shadows were cast eerily both in front of the pair and behind them. Chalinda followed Nynaeve through what felt like a maze of hallways, and up several flights of stairs. It took everything that Chalinda had to maintain balance, as her hands were too busy holding her bag to hike her skirts up.

Her slippers made no noise in the vast hallways, and everything around them seemed silent. Only once had Chalinda seen liveried servants pass by, each of them pausing to curtsy or bow in Nynaeve's wake.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Nynaeve pulled Chalinda to a halt in front of a heavy-looking door.

"Have courage," she whispered, and knocked precisely three times before opening the door. Light poured out, and she stepped forward, motioning Chalinda after her.

She hesitated once more, stuck in place with cold fear, earning a scowl from the Aes Sedai. She stepped forward slowly, straightening her posture which had slipped during the climb of one of many flights of stairs. She took a deep breath and entered the room. She tried to appear calm and to mask the terror that had consumed her. This was happening too fast.

The room was warm, and a fire burned heartily in the hearth beyond the woman's desk. Their shadows played on the stone wall to Chalinda's left in motion with the flame. Chalinda was vaguely reminded of her mother's study- however it was not her mothers study. She was not at home, and she would not be seeing any of her family. Chalinda swallowed anxiously and clutched her bag in a tighter grasp, her knuckles becoming white. Her shoes made no noise on the rug as she entered.

A slender woman, with a long neck sat behind a desk of dark, engraved wood. She stared past Nynaeve, directly at Chalinda. Her eyes took her in, weighing her. Nynaeve placed a hand on Chalinda's back and nudged her forward. Almost tripping, Chalinda responded with an uneasy step, and a hysteric glance up at the Aes Sedai.

"This is Chalinda t'Bashere Aybara?" she asked, standing with both hands upon the tabletop.

"Yes, Rosil," replied Nynaeve quietly.

"We will keep you… Informed of her progress, as you have requested," said Rosil Sedai with a smile, as she rounded the desk, "The babes?"

"Later," replied Nynaeve curtly.

"Of course," sniffed Rosil who turned to Chalinda, and her bag. "Child, try not to look so frightened. We will not cause you undue harm. You know how to properly address your elders?"

Chalinda nodded, and said, "Yes, Rosil Sedai."

The woman, whose skirts glimmered pleasantly in the lamp light clicked her tongue, and shook her head sadly.

"You will curtsy upon entering the room if there is Aes Sedai or an Accepted present. Understood Child?"

Chalinda, who was at a loss for words bobbed a quick curtsy, though she could not perform it properly with her hands full, and said meekly, "I'm sorry, Rosil Sedai."

She was beginning to feel numb again—her feelings becoming so overwhelming they seemed to meld into one giant glob of nothing. This place, what was happening now, all felt surreal to her. Like a dream. Had she even left home? Perhaps she was still comfortably tucked into her bed, in the Two Rivers. Her mother would be arriving at any moment to announce her plans for the day…

"I will return," said Rosil to Nynaeve, and touched Chalinda upon her shoulder, drawing her attention. "This way, Child. I'll show you to your room."

Chalinda gave Nynaeve a desperate look, her eyes widening. '_No!_' She thought, '_Please! Nynaeve! Don't let her take me!'_

Nynaeve gave her a sympathetic look, but said and did nothing to assist her. Chalinda had no choice, but to follow Rosil in her flowing yellow skirts into the hallways beyond.

* * *

Arryne watched her sister tail after Nynaeve with a pang of sympathy. In the dark, her sister's pale face, with her wide eyes and beads of sweat, had looked petrified. Arryne wished that she could have gone with her, to offer support. However, she still had bags to unstrap from her horse, and she still did not know, yet, where she would be led to herself.

The night had taken on a sudden chill, and Arryne inwardly chastised herself for forgetting to don a cloak. She stood on her tip-toes and undid the belts that held her second bag in place. She noticed that Lan, from the corner of her eye, stood as still as a stone, watching Nynaeve and her sister disappear into the darkness.

Finally, the last of her thick, leather bags came free, and she swung it from its place on the saddle to her free shoulder. She shifted, bouncing on her feet lightly to readjust them. Hopefully, they would not slip too much and disrupt her while she walked. She had a notion that Lan would not be a patient man.

She stepped up next to him, weighed down by her luggage. She was suddenly regretting the decision to wear the new boots that her mother had ordered for her, for they were wearing uncomfortably against her heels.

Lan turned on his heel, and set off in the opposite direction that Chalinda and Nynaeve had gone without motion or word. He moved so sharply that his cloak rustled. Arryne sprung into motion, careful to maintain precisely three steps behind him. Not too close, and not too far.

The fresh heels of her boots thudded pleasantly on the stone as she walked—she would have to work them hard to get rid of that. However the sound was comforting; it reminded her of home. She could already predict that much of her time being here, she would be exploring the outside grounds of the Tower.

'_Home,_' thought Arryne idly, as they walked, '_I'll miss home. Those memories are even more important, now._'

Since they departed with Nynaeve, Arryne noticed that none of the guards that they passed bowed. So it was proper decorum then, to bow before Aes Sedai here too. Arryne made note of that, so she wouldn't make a fool of herself at a later time. Idly, she wondered what other sorts of mannerisms that she would have to adapt while staying here.

"What made you come to the White Tower?" asked Lan from ahead of her. He did not break his stride, or slow.

"I'm not sure, honestly," said Arryne indifferently. She hopped lightly, mid-step, to readjust her bags. "It just felt like the right thing to do."

"Are you willing to die?" he asked softly. His voice carried on the empty walkway, however. She had no trouble hearing him.

Arryne went quiet for a moment, thinking her answer over. Was she? That was something she hadn't considered seriously until now.

"I suppose so," she said finally, "I don't think that I will—die I mean—if the time came. I don't mean to have a big head, but. I have things I intend to see done before I die."

Silence hung between them as they walked, passing the southern stables, and a group of guards who patrolled with torches. Still now bows.

Arryne felt small, behind the tall warder. His cloak moved with him, shifting colors rapidly with each step that he took. She was reminded fondly of a time that Olwrick and herself had been instructed to tail after her father for a day. Perrin's cloak had moved in a very similar manner.

Lan led her through grass and across stone walkways, opting for a straight, direct route to wherever it was he was leading her. One of the guards must have recognized him, for someone that Arryne had no interest in recognizing greeted him in passing.

"Tai'Shar Malkier!" someone called in passing. Arryne, in the shadow of the night, did not who had said it. Lan, however, nodded in the direction of the passing guards and the friendly light that their torches brought. She felt a pang of regret, watching the light fade into the darkened distance.

"What does that mean?" asked Arryne from behind him, genuinely curious.

"Long live Malkier," he said softly, then offered no further explanation.

Arryne bit her tongue for the duration of her journey, carefully maintaining her distance and taking in her surroundings as she went. She would not put it past herself to miss something important while too busy doing something unimportant if she were not careful. In a new environment, she did not have the luxury of being careless. Taking that thought to sudden heart, she slid into _Cat Crosses the Courtyard_.

It was not easy, remaining relaxed, alert, and ready to reach for her blades at the blink of an eye while carrying heavy bags on each shoulder; but Arryne thought she did as well as could be expected. She did not bounce again to readjust. As if held by will alone, her bags did not slip again; and she could feel the tension in her stomach relax, to boot.

Lan led her through a small, secluded courtyard that had required climbing a couple flights of bone-white stone stairs. Trees lined it's perimeter, and a stark stone walkway wide enough for two, maybe three, people took them to a plain stone tower—a miniature copy of the center piece of Tar Valon. A single man stood next to an unpainted door. His face, shadowed, was aimed at the ground. He did not stir as they passed. With a start, Arryne realized that the man was sleeping. She made a face.

He entered without announcing himself, and did not gesture for Arryne to follow. She did, anyhow, taking her cue from the door that he had left open for her. She could hear hushed laughter from inside.

She entered, toeing the door closed behind her quietly. The room she'd stepped into was dimly lit by only a few lamps, and a lantern placed at the center of a small, rough, wooden, rectangular table. Two men in plain tunics, and trousers that looked as if they'd seen better days sat barefoot at the table dicing. They glanced sharply at the door, their hands moving to the swords that had been placed carelessly upon the table beside them.

They visibly relaxed upon seeing Lan, and his color-shifting cloak. One of the men grunted, and pointed lazily upwards without saying anything. Lan nodded, and gesturing for the first time all evening for Arryne to follow him, started up the stairs quietly.

It was then that Arryne made notice of how quietly the man moved. Even on old, wooden, steps, he made no noise. No creaking, or thudding of his heels. Even now, in the safety of the White Tower, he moved as if someone would be waiting to attack him around every corner. Would she walk like that after becoming a warder? Arryne glanced down at his boots. They were new, and the heels were still hard.

Arryne made a conscious effort to walk with less sound.

Lan did not lead her very far down the dimly lit hallway at the top of the stairs. He knocked softly at the second door on their right that they came to, and entered without being addressed. When Arryne made to follow him, he held a hand up, and shook his head.

"Stay out here," was all he said. She stepped back as he closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Arryne alone in the dark hallway.

'_Lovely,_' she thought, setting her bags down gently against the wall. She slid down to sit warily on top of them, fighting back a yawn. She could hear nothing from the room behind her, and she did not waste her time trying. Lan was not a man you wanted to be caught eavesdropping on.

From downstairs, the sounds of the men's hushed chatter drifted up the stairs. Arryne could make out a line of light that would flicker, then dim, when a shadow passed over it. The door opened below, and she could hear a round of roaring laughter. So they had discovered the sleeping guard, then. Not too long after, everything fell silent. Her thoughts danced around idly while she sat there, suddenly caught in a wave of boredom.

She had expected, irrationally, to be put to work as soon as she arrived. She'd had a foolish notion that she would be tossing her bags down upon the nearest bed, and rushing off, blades swinging, to a field with other recruits for training. Clearly, that notion was off. In fact, arriving at the Tower so far had been nothing short of uneventful. Arryne hoped that Chalinda was having a better time of it.

She fingered the fox medallion around her neck without noticing that she was doing it until she'd been doing so for more than just a few minutes. She brought her hand down to rest on her knee. It wouldn't do to be caught being fidgety.

She found herself becoming sleepy, sitting upon her bags without any conversation to occupy her, and leaned back against the wall behind her. Lan would not allow harm to come to her, and the temperature in here was not uncomfortable…

Just then, the door opened, light pooling through the opening, and Lan stepped out. He stared down at her, and shook his head.

"Up. You'll be sleeping here tonight."

"Alright," said Arryne, standing. Her legs had gotten stiff, and her backside ached with the sudden movement. She lifted the two bags onto her shoulders and followed Lan further down the hall. He held a small lantern out ahead of him, casting their long shadows against the wooden floorboards ahead of them. At the end, he opened a door and held it open for her.

Arryne slid past him and into the room. It was tiny, and the only furniture in the thing was a small, dingy table and a bed that had once seen better days. The table had a thick layer of dust upon it, and the bed smelled vaguely of mildew. The pillow, she could already tell, was thin and had visible lump in the lantern-light. She set her bags down at the foot of the bed, next to a rusting metal bed-post.

"Be up at dawn," said Lan, holding the lantern out to her, "I'll be here for you then to take you to the Blademaster."

"Alright."

"Yes Sir," he corrected, as she took the lantern from him. Arryne bobbed her head in understanding, and set the lantern upon the small tabletop. It had no drawers, and when she placed the lantern upon it, she noticed that it had a lean.

"Yes Sir," she confirmed, turning back to face him.

"Get as much rest as you can," he advised, turning to leave. Arryne started to remove the belt from around her abdomen while she watched the warder take his leave. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her. Her eyebrows shot up as she tossed her scabbard onto the mattress lightly, and she made a questioning grunt in the back of her throat.

"What is it that would keep you from dying?" asked Lan slowly.

"What I've lost," she replied without thinking, or pause, "I still have to find it. I can't explain it, rightfully. I just know that I have to, err. Sir."

As if he understood, he nodded and closed the door after him.

* * *

Chalinda fell onto the small, uncomfortable bed that she had been told would be hers from now on. Upon It was only one pillow and a thin, itchy blanket. The room she had been given was tiny, and left her little room for movement beyond her bed. If she sat upon the foot of it, she could probably outstretch her leg and touch the wall with her foot, easily.

She wore a plain white, cotton night-dress. While it was not entirely uncomfortable, like the blanket, it was thin. She would have preferred a thicker material.

In fact, Chalinda would have preferred not having come to this wretched place at all. They had, ceremoniously, doused her naked form in cold water then made her watch as her clothes—remnants of her old life—burned. She'd had to turn her face away from Rosil, and the maids in livery to dab at her eyes with the sleeve of the stark white robes they had made her put on. Her heart had felt as if it had been being yanked upon.

After that, Rosil had placed a folded stack of white dresses, shifts, woolen white stockings, and plain white slippers into her arms.

"You may keep the jewelry and the books you have brought. Do not wear them, however. You will be sent to me for punishment if you do," Rosil had informed her sternly.

Chalinda had nodded, grateful that she had packed very lightly. She'd only brought with her two necklaces, small, silver earrings, and a few books that her Nynaeve had said would be useful for her studies. Everything else in her bag, aside from those few items, had been taken for storing. She would receive them when—and if—she passed her testing for the shawl. Or if she was sent away for failing to become an Accepted.

Her first night in Tar Valon had been miserable, and the stiff, lumpy mattress that she now lay upon now did nothing to sooth her. There were no windows in here, to let light in. Only a few lamps that flickered gloomily upon either side of her doorway. The floors and walls were of clean, gray stone and the ceiling was low. The floors were unusually clean, and the bedspread surprisingly fresh. On the other side of the room, a tiny wardrobe stood next to a thin-wooden stand with nothing atop it.

She felt like a caged animal, suddenly. Captured, stolen, and kidnapped in her freedom and taken to a place like a dog that was to become part of some sick and twisted performance. '_Only the dog would be able to wear color,_' she thought sadly.

She did not crawl under her blanket, nor did she move from her initial position of lying face down. Her hair splayed out in ringlets around her, and finally, now that she was alone, she sniffled quietly. Her misery turned her sniffles into quiet sobs and Chalinda cried herself to sleep.

* * *

When Chalinda awoke to the sounds of quiet knocking at her door, she'd forgotten where she was. The scratchy blankets were unfamiliar and in her meager excuse for a night dress, her skin rippled with goose-bumps. With a start, she shot up from the face-down position she had fallen asleep in with her heart thudding unpleasantly in her chest.

Where was she? Where were her windows, comfortable blankets, and warm breakfast?! She started when another knock sounded quietly, ushering in vivid memories of the previous night. '_That's right,_ she thought, '_I'm in Tar Valon. I left last night. And now things will never be the same…'_

"Come in!" she called groggily, her voice riddled with sleep. Chalinda located the plain white robe that she'd discarded carelessly upon the chilly stone floor the night before, and put it on.

The door opened, revealing a girl with a round face and untamed mousey brown hair that fell over her shoulders and down past her ample bosom. She, too, wore the novice white, and under her left arm—balanced against her hip—was a heavy looking stone basin that sloshed with the sounds of water.

"May I?" she asked timidly. Her voice was soft, and high pitched, like the voice of a young girl who—in Two Rivers custom—would not have yet been able to braid her hair. However, she appeared to be around Chalinda's age, and she carried herself like a woman who knew how to get things done. She noticed that the girl was not pale, and that her hands were almost as calloused as her sister's, Arryne's, were. Likely once from a farm, then.

"Oh, of course!" Chalinda replied, gesturing her in tiredly. What time was it?

The girl sauntered through the doorway, toeing the heavy wood closed with a snap behind her, and placed the basin upon the empty stand that stood alone against the stone wall opposite of Chalinda's bed.

"I hope you slept alright," the girl said, "The beds are uncomfortable. But you get used to them." She moved to Chalinda's wardrobe, which contained her clothing, and began sorting through the folded items that Chalinda had not yet seen to hanging up.

"You'll want to keep these in good shape, or the Mistress of Novices will have something to say," she continued, "Oh—I'm sorry!" She spun, rustling her skirts. She held a dress, a shift, and stockings in her hands.

"I'm Maillese," said she, setting the clothing upon the bed next to Chalinda, who seated herself daintily.

"I'm Chalinda," she replied, rubbing at her eyes. She was a Lady-in-training no longer, and giving out her last name would be useless. So she withheld it. She remembered the loss of her title, and her family, with a pang of sorrow in her stomach.

"Oh, that's a lovely name! Old tongue! I don't rightfully know of too many girls who have names in Old Tongue."

"It's in Old Tongue?" Chalinda asked stupidly. She inwardly chastised herself. Her mother would not have approved of such a straightforward question.

"It sure is! But we'll talk about that later. I'll wait outside while you dress—we're running a bit late already. We must sweep your floors and tidy up in here before we get some breakfast."

"Alright," replied Chalinda slowly. Maillese bounced from the room, leaving Chalinda to her devices. She stared after the girl until the door swung closed once more before standing and sliding the robe from her shoulders. Sullenly, she stood next to her new bed, her feet chilled unpleasantly on the cold stone floor, staring down at the outfit that had been laid out for her. She hoped the novice whites were more comfortable than they looked.

* * *

Arryne had awoken well before the knocking at her door announced Lan's arrival. She had barely slept, unable to find comfort or security in such a foreign environment. Arryne had, in the night, snuffed the lantern's light to preserve it, and had resigned herself to laying still upon the bed in the dark, lost in a whirlwind of restless thought. A good portion of her time had been spent toying idly with the medallion that rested upon her chest, or pinching strands of hair between her fingers. It had taken hours for her to finally doze. The only sleep Arryne had gotten was restless—for she had awoken to the sound of every little footstep and creaking floorboard beyond the walls of the tiny room.

She'd never gotten undressed, either. Instead she had only kicked her boots off carelessly and unstrapped her blades, keeping them within arms' reach next to her on the bed. She would not be caught off guard. This was not the Two Rivers. This was not a place that she could yet trust people.

Morning light had barely begun creeping through the small, rectangular window that sat high on the wall when Arryne gave up on resting. She'd changed her clothes, sleepily, pleased to note that within the bag Faile had sent for her she found several of the sleeveless shirts that Arryne would wear in place of the commonly accepted shifts.

She wore comfortable trousers, light in color with material that conformed to her figure. They were easy to move around in. Her shirt, blue with very little embroidery had wide sleeves and, for all accounts, a fairly low neckline. Instead of the new, shiny boots her mother had ordered for her, Arryne instead chose to wear one of the nicer pairs of her brother's old ones. She did not want to appear spoiled, or incapable—and she wanted boots that wouldn't make her feet ache by the end of the day.

When the knock came finally, long after sunlight shined through the dusty window, Arryne was sitting, in deep thought with her elbows upon her knees. She had butterflies forming in the pit of her stomach. What was going to happen to her? Lan had mentioned pleading her case—would the Tower try to send her back home?

"I'm awake," she called, bending over to close the flap on her leather equipment bag.

Lan stepped through the door, swinging it open with his brisk stride. He wore a white shirt under a deep green coat with lace and golden embroidery upon the sleeves. His cuff-link glittered when he moved, and he did not wear his color-shifting cloak. He offered her a small material bundle.

"Breakfast," he explained, as she took the bundle from him.

"Thanks," Arryne replied, untying the top and biting into the bread hastily. Her stomach had grumbled in the night more than once.

"I hope you got enough rest," he said, nudging the door closed behind him, "You'll have a lot to get done today. Do you know _Cat Crosses the Courtyard_?"

"I do," Arryne said, around a mouthful of bread. She swallowed, then added, "Tam taught me."

"Show me what else you know, after you finish eating. I'll take care of your bags while you do. It might help you change their minds about you," he said.

"They don't want me here?" she asked, then took another bite. She'd suspected as much, though it annoyed her a bit to hear it. She wrinkled up her nose, and squinted her eyes.

"They do not normally accept women as recruits," he explained, eyeing her, "But you will show them the error of that notion, today. Walk like a Blademaster. You already carry two blades—that's something they're not used to seeing. It may work in your favor. Do not stutter, or get emotional. Say what needs to be said, then let them make up their minds."

"They?" Arryne asked, "Who are they?"

"Your possible trainers. The Blademasters of Tar Valon, and Captain of the Guard and the people responsible for making Gaidin out of people like you."

Arryne nodded, and, finishing the last of her breakfast, stood while wiping crumbs from the front of her shirt. Unsure of what to do with the cloth that had contained it, she stuffed it into her pocket. She noticed the corners of Lan's mouth turn up in the blue light that seeped into the room.

"Are you ready?"

"Not really," admitted Arryne bluntly, "I'm worried they'll find me useless, or something. That they'll send me away."

"They won't if you prove yourself," he replied, shouldering one of Arryne's bags.

"I'll try to knock the boots off of them," she said while picking up the other.

"Don't be cocky," he warned, opening the door for her. She stepped out, grinning from ear to ear.

Arryne did not offer anything else, but followed him down the stairs and out into the daylight beyond stepping into _Cat Crosses the Courtyard_ with ease. Her back straightened, and her limbs became relaxed. Her bag, she noted with minor surprise, did not hinder her.

'_If you want me to impress, I'll impress,_' she thought determinedly.

In the early morning daylight, Arryne fully understood why The White tower was named as such. The giant building reflected sunlight like a beacon, and all of the stone pathways that twisted around it seemed to try to mirror it. The gardens were well taken care of, blooming lushly in all manner of colors; their sweet smells carried pleasantly through the air. Trees of all kinds lined the stark stone paths, shading them against the summer light. They bloomed richly, and already gardeners and girls in plain, white dresses were kneeling amongst the flower beds. Everything smelled of morning, and birds chirped cheerfully from their perches in branches above them. The beauty of this place had been lost on her in the night time. In the morning light, her breath hitched for a moment as she took it all in.

Lan led her away from the small, gray tower that she'd slept in the night before, and through the active grounds of the White Tower. All around, young women in white were bustling about; some carried baskets or brooms, or tailed after women with ageless faces with their heads down. Arryne noted that not a one of them would make eye contact with her, but she caught more than a handful of them watching her from the corner of their eyes.

'_Aes Sedai are odd,_' Arryne determined inwardly, shrugging off the feeling that the lot of them were staring at her, '_I hope I don't get one whose _completely_ mad._'

She tailed after Lan to a garden that seemed uninhabited—the only sounds were Arryne's breathing and the rustling of branches overhead from the passing breeze. Arryne mimicked the warder, who set her bag down gently at the base of a tree that warped in several different directions at once. She noticed that the thing had branches that ended abruptly—as if the poor thing had seen harder times in its past.

"Alright," said Lan, "Show me what you can do with those things."

Surprised and speechless, Arryne merely stared at him. What did he want her to do, exactly? Forms? Did he expect her to attack him?—Light, she hoped not. She shifted her weight from foot to foot uneasily.

"Err, what do you want me to do?" she asked.

This irritated Lan, who shook his head and sighed exasperatedly.

"Anything, girl!" he snapped, "Do you think you'll get very far sounding like a child whose lost her way? Be sure of what you are doing. You are wasting our time, otherwise!"

"Sorry, sir," she said, trying to make her voice sound firm. She backed away from him, ensuring there was ample room for her to move. His eyes, like stone, watched her. She wriggled her toes in her boots, her hand finding its way to the sword at her hip.

Arryne took a deep breath, and erased everything from her mind. A small flame flickered into existence in the darkness there, and Arryne began to toss stray thoughts into it. No feeling. No emotion. Only hard, pure, concentration. She could not afford to make a mistake. She must prove herself. She cast those thoughts into the rising flame, too.

She fell into _Leopard in the Tree, _tossing the observant warder into the void. It did not matter that he was there. Her sword was on the brink of drawing, and with every breath, she felt her muscles both relaxing and tensing at the same time.

Arryne sprang into motion.

The sword at her hip became an extension of herself, and she drew. _The Moon Rises Over the Lakes_—her sword found its way from the sheathe and came up sharply. Her bent knees pushed forward and she moved on to her next stance.

Unnamed enemies sprang up around her in her imagination. Four of them. Four faceless, nameless, nonexistent men—all of them with blades drawn and intent to kill her.

Arryne pivoted. _Cat Dances on the Wall_—her blade swung wide, taking out the first of her imaginary enemies at the knees. Her other hand shot up and yanked the blade from her back—she would not leave herself defenseless. In less time than it took her to draw breath, the other sword—Olwrick's old sword—was dancing dangerously in her other hand.

The blades moved as one; playing off of each other, her momentum building. She danced from foot to foot. _Two Moons Rise over the Water—_her altered version of a simpler stance. The blades crossed each other in her slashing strike, slashing across the chest of another of her invisible foes.

Her boots made no noise on the stone beneath her as she pivoted once more, blades rising—one defensive, the other offensive. Now was not the time to experiment, but Arryne had never been the child in her family labeled a bloody genius. It was like performing two postures at once. _Twisting the Wind_—her vitals would be protected.

Entranced, Arryne moved—blow after imaginary blow to enemies that were not there. She did stop moving—movement was key. She was not, by nature, incredibly strong. But she was fast. If she kept her blades moving, then she would do some damage. There was no resistance; the air seemed to part for her blades—for her.

Time no longer existed. It disappeared along with the entirety of her meager emotions into the darkness of the void. All that mattered—all that _was_ consisted of no more than her movements. She forgot why she was fighting these imaginary men, but Arryne knew that she must. They were a danger—to her and her Aes Sedai.

The last of the air-men fell to the ground soundlessly, and Arryne found herself panting. She hopped backwards, twisting the pommels around in her palms. _Folding the Fan_. Finally, her motions ceased, and her blades found their ways into their sheathes with a pleasant sound.

Arryne did not let go of the void, and slid—as she had when she'd began—to _Leopard in the Tree_. Her left hand rested, ready to move, at her hip. The other remained raised, fingering the pommel above her shoulder. She turned, realizing that her back had, somehow, been turned on the warder. Had that been enough?

She felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over her suddenly. The flame flickered into nothingness, and the calm of the void slipped from her. Her could feel her eyes widen and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Arryne's arms both fell to her sides uselessly.

Two other men had joined Lan in his observations. One was tall, almost as tall as Lan was, and was no older than Arryne herself by more than a few years. He had strange hair—the color of an evening sky; red and golden. His sharp blue eyes weighed her. He stood stiffly with both hands grasping each other behind his back.

The other was much older—Perhaps older than Lan himself. Wisps of grey had begun growing in his shaped beard, and his long, dark hair was tied neatly at the base of his skull. Both of them wore marked coats—the white flame of Tar Valon proudly worn on both of their backs. The older of the two had pinched his chin thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger. She noted that the sword at his side was Heron-marked.

'_A Blademaster?_' she thought worriedly, '_Light! When did they get here?'_

Arryne felt abashed, and dipped into a low bow, her arm crossing her chest as a sign of respect—at least, she hoped it would be taken as such. Swallowing, she stood up straight, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw. Would she be pleading her case now? Her stomach began fluttering uneasily once more.

"Not bad," said the eldest of the three thoughtfully. His voice was deep, and reminded Arryne of large boulders that could be found along the banks of rivers—sturdy and unmoving. Stubborn, and incredibly patient. He reminded her vaguely of Tam.

The younger of the two only grunted. The man with the Heron-marked blade glanced at Lan.

"So you recommend her, eh? Why?"

"She was taught by Tam Al'Thor. Father of the Dragon Reborn," he answered carefully. The man nodded and pointed at her.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked loudly.

"Arryne t'Bashere Aybara," she answered firmly. Lan's advice earlier replayed through her mind. Do not sound unsure. Do not become emotional. Be sturdy, and straightforward. Only say what needed to be said.

"Daughter of Lord of the Two Rivers, eh?" said the man, chuckling as if enjoying a private joke. The red-haired youth's eyebrows quirked upwards, and his eyes suddenly seemed more interested.

"What do you make of this?" he asked the youth next to him.

The youth set his hard jawline, and narrowed his keen eyes towards her. Arryne could feel him sizing her up, taking in every detail of her. Silently, she pleaded him. '_Don't judge me wrongly,_' she willed, _'Don't. I'm useful. I'm _useful_. I swear it._'

There was an uneasy pause between them. A bird chirped from overhead, then with a flutter, took flight. The sun had risen higher into the sky and the summer heat was beginning to creep over the large garden. Arryne swallowed, and met the icy gaze of the man before her.

Finally, the youth spoke; Slowly, and enunciating strongly his every word.

"She does not belong here."

* * *

Chalinda was being laughed at. She scowled down at the broom in her hands, her cheeks burning.

She had never once held one of these dreadful things before in her life! How was she supposed to know how to sweep? That was something that a servant did—not a Lady in training. She sniffed, but kept at her pathetic attempt to clean. She would not be made a fool. No—Chalinda would learn to sweep as well as any servant.

"Oh Light, Chalinda, you're just spreading it around!" gasped Maillese through her laughter.

Chalinda made a noise that her father could have been proud of—it sounded much like one of his growls. Maillese, grinning, stepped forward and took the broom from her grasp.

After Chalinda had adorned the white of a Novice, re-entered and informed Chalinda of what her daily schedule would be like. She would awaken every morning before dawn to tidy up and sweep her room—including the scrubbing of her floors every couple of days. Then she would, if she had time, rush to breakfast—which she would most likely be missing today—and eat in silence. Novices were not allowed to speak during their meals. Afterwards, she would bustle to her lessons with an Aes Sedai, then sent off to run errands or work in the kitchens—or the gardens, or the halls; wherever it was she was assigned to for that day.

Chalinda, upon hearing all of this, had stared at Maillese incredulously.

"You can't be serious," she'd said, "There's no _way_ they would make us do all of that."

Maillese had laughed at her, shaking her head.

And now the girl was trying, in vain, to teach Chalinda how to sweep. Maillese worked the thing like a man would his sword—with expertise. She worked her way around the tiny room, and in mere moments—much to Chalinda's irritation—had the floors clean (not that they hadn't been already). Chalinda bit back a snide remark with the setting of her jaw. It wouldn't do to act harshly towards her first—and only—friend in this place.

"I'll take it that you're not much used to working, are you?" asked Maillese, setting the offending object into a corner, out of the way. She opened the door and gestured for Chalinda to follow her.

"No," Chalinda admitted stiffly, "I'm not. Not in _this_ way."

When the other did not reply immediately, Chalinda added, "Sorry, for that. I'm afraid I'm going to be a tough student."

Maillese laughed lightly—Her voice reminded Chalinda of the tiny brass bells that were sometimes attached to the harness of a cart-horse, during special occasions.

"You'll learn quick enough, I expect. It's going to be a rough start for you, I'm afraid," she replied, closing the door behind Chalinda.

"So you were serious about all of that, then?"

"Oh, Light. You thought I was really joking? We have our work cut out for us as Novices."

Maillese led Chalinda through hallways that Chalinda did not recognize. They were of grey stone, and only occasionally was there a painting, or tapestry to fight back the otherwise gloomy atmosphere. Their white slippers made very little noise—and Chalinda was pleased to find that they were not, by any means, uncomfortable.

"Where are we going?" asked Chalinda, matching the other girl's pace. She walked quickly—likely with practice.

"Well, we've missed breakfast already, I'm afraid. I'm going to take you to the Mistress of Novices—to see where you're supposed to be. We have a while yet before we're to be attending our Aes Sedai," she replied.

They started up a flight of stairs.

"Will I be attending lessons with you?" asked Chalinda hopefully. So far, Maillese had been the only other person aside from Nynaeve and Rosil that she had been able to talk to for more than a few quick moments. Chalinda, despite all of the independence that she'd thought she'd had before, did not want to be left alone—knowing no one.

"Can you channel yet?" Maillese asked, glancing back at her. She took the stairs with ease, unlike Chalinda who masked her lack of practice with slow, determined breathing.

"No," she admitted.

"Then it's quite possible, I think. See, I've almost gotten it. I can reach out to _saidar_ finally, with trouble."

"The female half of the one power," said Chalinda.

"That's right!"

"Well, at least I'm not completely oblivious," Chalinda murmured.

When they reached the only mildly familiar door of the Mistress of Novice's office, Maillese knocked quietly upon it.

"Don't forget to curtsy," she whispered.

A voice from inside called them in, and Maillese ushered Chalinda in ahead of her. Both of them bobbed a curtsy upon entering.

"We're sorry to bother you, Rosil Sedai," greeted Maillese.

The woman from the night before, Rosil, was sitting with her hands folded serenely atop her desk. A quill stood in a stand next to a jar of open ink—an old fashioned method of writing. Light poured in from a large, paned window behind her. The room was tidy, and not nearly as imposing as it had been the night before. There was no fire burning in the hearth this morning.

"What is it, Child? You're missing out on your meal," she said, not unkindly. She did not seem surprised to see them.

"We weren't sure where Chalinda is supposed to go," said Maillese. Chalinda stood beside her, deciding it better if she remained quiet. The last time this woman had seen her, she had been crying. She could still feel the embarrassment of doing so, freshly.

"I see," said the Mistress of Novices slowly. Her hands came unfolded, and they fell beyond Chalinda's sight, behind the desk.

"Should she join my lessons with Pedra Sedai, Mistress? She is teaching me how to embrace _saidar_," said Maillese meekly.

"And are you making progress?" asked Rosil.

"I am."

"I see no harm in it then—until I find a place for her. Yes… For now, take her with you for your lessons. Do not make me regret this, Child. Do not get distracted from your lessons. However, I expect she can use a friendly face," she finally said, her voice kind. She gave the girls a small smile, then held up her hand.

"Now, off with you two. I believe there is work to be done."

Chalinda watched Maillese bob into another curtsy. With a small start, she took cue and did the same, before taking her leave. She glanced back as the door swung, with an unseen force, behind them.

"Was that _saidar, _that did that?" Chalinda asked quietly, as the two of them made their way down the long hallway.

"Yep. I could _feel_ it, Chalinda—almost see it. I'm sure I'll be able to channel, soon," said Maillese dreamily.

"I'm not sure about what is so… Wonderful, about it—no offense," said Chalinda sullenly.

"That's because you haven't _felt_ it yet," replied Maillese. "You'll have a change in heart once you—" She fell quiet.

They turned a corner to find a woman with an ageless face idly strolling towards them. An Aes Sedai. She wore a luxurious dress that trailed after her. Maillese curtsied, giving Chalinda a look that told her to do the same. Once the woman had rounded the corner, the two scurried further down the hallway, and Maillese continued what she'd been saying.

"You'll have a change in heart once you embrace _saidar_ for the first time. I've really never felt anything like it. I have to remind myself not to pull too much of it."

"Why is that?" Chalinda asked, curious. There were rules to channeling? Limitations?

"Oh—you can burn yourself out, if you aren't careful," she explained, leading Chalinda back down the flights of stairs.

"Burn myself out? What does that mean?"

"If you're lucky, it would simply kill you," she said.

Chalinda sniffed. That didn't sound incredibly lucky to her.

"Otherwise, you'd just never be able to channel again…" Maillese shivered, as if the thought was a horrifying one. Perhaps it was, but Chalinda did not understand. She had never once felt anything close to what she was describing. So she fell quiet.

As they walked, Maillese pointed out where certain commonplaces were. A sitting room, that friendly Aes Sedai would often slip into to converse—many Novices and Accepted were apparently welcome, at any time, to go and ask questions or slip in for a quick lesson. She pointed to Chalinda where they would be eating—a long hall will wide tables. It was empty, when they passed.

"Beyond there," she said, making a face, "Are the kitchens. Hope that you aren't placed there often. It's nasty work."

Maillese led Chalinda down a series of long hallways, the most notable of which, changed suddenly from the dismal grey of the Novice galleries to the pure, white, stone of the Tower. The floor was of colored tiles—one for every Ajah, Chalinda presumed—and the décor got progressively more and more ornate.

Some hallways had large, painted tapestries depicting scenes of battles, kings being crowned, or important women in history. Some contained a long, patterned carpet down the center, muffling the sounds of their footsteps even further. Chalinda noticed that, as they progressed further—and higher—into the Tower, the tiles upon the floor changed from the multiple colors, to Yellow, to Green, then to Blue.

Finally, Maillese halted in front of a door located along a long foyer with blue tiles and glass cases along the walls that contained a variety of objects, and knocked quietly. The door opened, and Maillese curtsied before entering. Chalinda quietly followed suit and entered the room after her.

The woman who Chalinda assumed to be Pedra, sat in a plush armchair against an arched window. She smiled warmly when they entered, and bid for Maillese to close the door behind her. Upon noticing Chalinda, she arched a single eyebrow.

"Who might you be, Child?" she addressed, leaning forward from her perch in her chair. She wore a pale dress with a neck-line that dipped well below her collarbone, and with thin sleeves that clung to her arms flatteringly. She wore the Great Serpent ring with pride, and wore no other jewelry on that same hand.

Chalinda, unsure of proper decorum, curtsied again and said, "I'm Chalinda, ma'am."

"Pedra Sedai," the woman corrected with a click of her tongue. "Have you only just arrived?"

"Yes, Pedra Sedai," said Chalinda. She felt a pang of annoyance at having to repeat the honorific. Light, didn't these women know what they were? Why must they hear it so often?

She chastised herself, internally, for thinking that way. Mouthing off would certainly do no good, and thinking thoughts like that was the first step to doing so. Respect was a virtue, as was the patience that often went hand in hand with it. Those were words of her mother's advice. Chalinda ignored the twisting in her gut upon remembering such.

"I see. I suppose I'll be teaching the both of you then. Alright. Seat yourselves. We'll start from the beginning, for your sake, Chalinda," she instructed, gesturing to the plush rug in front of her. Chalinda hesitated, and waited for Maillese—who had clearly done this before—to sit cross-legged upon the floor. Chalinda had to resist wrinkling her nose as she followed suit, slowly and awkwardly; Sitting on the floor was not considered incredibly ladylike. Maillese shot her a sideways glance that seemed to say, '_get used to it._'

"What do you know of _saidar_, Child?" asked Pedra, addressing Chalinda.

"Only that it is the female half of the source—the One Power—and that it may be channeled, or used, by only women," she answered—then added, "Pedra Sedai."

That was _really_ going to become annoying.

The Aes Sedai nodded in approval from her chair. She folded her hands primly in her lap, and leant further forward.

"And that's all you know?"

Chalinda nodded. From beside her, Maillese smiled, looking rather pleased with herself. Chalinda pointedly kept her gaze to the Aes Sedai before her. '_Of course she knows more,_' she thought with mild annoyance, '_She's been here longer than you, idiot. Stop trying to take your frustrations out on her!_'

Pedra fell into an explanation of what the One Power was; That there were two halves, and that the men's half was called _saidin_. _Saidin_ had apparently—up until the Last Battle—been tainted. She explained what _saidar_ was for a woman—

"Like a lifeline. It gives a woman who can channel new purpose—new meaning. It is as much a part of us as the blood in our bodies."

–and much of what it was now used for. Bonding, Traveling, healing and _skimming_, were the most notable of recent accomplishments. Talents for making _angreal_ had resurfaced, and certain power wrought weapons had been made, or found.

Pedra also went over the responsibility that came with being able to Channel—

"You are a servant to the people—that is what Aes Sedai means in the Old Tongue."

–Responsibilities that could amount to something so small as a mere gateway for a traveler, to keeping political peace. Aes Sedai were also to keep Shadowspawn at bay; better yet, eradicated—however _that_ had not been necessary since the Last Battle.

Chalinda, despite herself, found that she was absorbing information eagerly. She asked questions with interest that she had not, until now, been aware that she had. For some time, the gnawing emptiness at having been ripped away from her family so suddenly was drowned in a wave of questions and answers;

"Where does it come from?" "Can it be stopped?—not that anyone would _want_ to, I imagine" (That one earned her a lengthy explanation on Stilling and Burning oneself out), "Who was the first known Channeler?" "Why are Aes Sedai the only ones who can channel—I mean, why can some people channel, while others cannot?" "When will I be able to channel?"

Pedra and Maillese both seemed pleased with her reactions—pleased that she was so interested in _saidar_. However, Pedra was unable to answer _all_ of her questions, and was quite reluctant to admit so when she couldn't. As far as her last question however—

"Not today, Child," she said, holding a hand up, "I realize that you are eager to do so, however," she paused, gesturing to a clock that hung upon the walls above her desk, "We are running out of time, Child. We will begin your lessons in embracing _saidar_ another day."

"Soon," the Aes Sedai added, noticing Chalinda's expression.

When the two of them left Pedra's study late in the morning, Chalinda's spirits had lifted drastically. She had, truly, enjoyed the lesson, and she told Maillese so. The girl responded with equal excitement, and began chattering about other things that Pedra had not yet mentioned about channeling.

'_Perhaps it will not be so bad,_' thought Chalinda, walking beside the chipper Maillese with an uneasy smile, '_Perhaps it will not be so bad, after all._'


	8. 007 - Proof

**[A/N:** _Hello everyone~ I'm sort of over that sinus infection/cold thing that I had. I'm doing a bit better at any rate. This chapter was written during the course of that illness, and my beta-reader still isn't to be found. I'm currently looking for someone to hold his place until he can get back into action. Feel free to message me if you're interested. It'd certainly make me a happy camper. Of course, this was only reviewed by myself, so I'm terribly sorry if I made mistakes. I try very hard to make sure there aren't typos or the like. I think that about covers everything... Ahh. Thank you so much, to everyone reading this! ^_^ _**]**

* * *

**Chapter Seven:**

**Proof**

Arryne bit back her frustration in silence. However, she met the red-haired youth's stare sternly. Silence, hard and pure, hung between the four of them. Lan, with curious eyes, gave the youth a sideways glance. The man with grey in his beard continued to thumb at his chin thoughtfully.

"Really now? You think she should go home?" he asked, turning to look at the youth—who nodded silently in reply. His face was hard—his eyes were even more so. They reminded Arryne vaguely of cooling steel.

"That's too bad Gawn," the man said, shaking his head, "It really is. I have a feeling that she's going to make a fine warder—one she's been polished up a bit."

"The girl moves like a snake, and dances around like a fox. I'm sorry you disagree Gawn—being my best student and all—but no. We're keeping this one," he continued, bobbing his head in Arryne's direction.

"Lan, she'll have her own room on the fourth floor, if you wouldn't mind taking her. She'll have until lunch time to get her belongings in order. Would you mind showing her around?"

"I can take her to the barracks, but my wife will have need of me shortly after," replied Lan, shaking his head.

"Alright then. I'll send someone to show her around. Thanks for bringing her in, Lan," said the man, turning on his heel.

"Don't thank me, yet," he replied, beckoning Arryne over.

From Lan's side Arryne watched the two depart, her mind reeling. As they walked, their heads leaned in, and she suspected that they spoke quietly to one another. Neither of them made a sound as they left, despite the excellent condition of their boot heels. Arryne looked up at Lan who, to her mild surprise, also stared after them.

"What just happened?" she asked quietly, shifting her weight from foot to foot restlessly.

"You've just been accepted as a White Tower recruit," he replied, "Get your bags. Take it in while you walk."

"You mean, they're going to train me, then?" asked Arryne, hefting both of her bags over her shoulders. She bounced on her heels, ensuring that they would not move and wiped sweat from her forehead with her shirt sleeve.

"Yes," said Lan, "They're going to make you a warder—if you can handle the training."

"That Gawn fellow… He didn't seem to like me much," she noted, falling into step beside him. She nodded at a guard who passed. Surprisingly, he nodded back. Had he witnessed what had happened? Or perhaps overheard the quiet conversation between Gawn and that blademaster?

Lan made a noise that Arryne supposed was his way of chuckling—for the corners of his mouth were upturned. It sounded like the deep rumbling of moving earth.

"Knowing him, it's only because you're a woman," he said.

"I figured that much. But why?"

"He has a strange sense of honor about him."

That made Arryne thoughtful.

"I'm going to change his mind about me," she said finally.

Lan only grunted in response.

* * *

"Come now, girl! It's not going to bloom if you keep smothering it! Less dirt! Less dirt! Use your _hands_!" said the attending gardener exasperatedly. She threw her hands up with a huff, then, dropping them to her sides, walked away while shaking her head. She mumbled rudely under her breath.

Chalinda scowled down at the earth beneath her. She hovered, legs spread wide apart in a crouch above a long strip of earth that she'd been set to tending. The hem of her dress was dotted with soil—much to her irritation—and her nails were in a desperate need of cleaning. She paused repeatedly in her work to brush her long hair from her face, eyes, or to remove it from a wayward twig.

Her first real chore had been assigned to the gardens—another thing Chalinda had absolutely no experience in. Upon arriving the gardener—who had sleek black hair that fell straight down her back and didn't seem to move from its position—had sized her up and had apparently decided that she did not like Chalinda very much. The woman, whose name Chalinda did not know, had scoffed at her when she explained, timidly, that she knew nothing of gardening.

"That's lovely," said the hawk-eyed woman haughtily, "Another useless pair of hands."

'_Insufferable woman,_' thought Chalinda nastily. She fingered the ground beneath her angrily, ripping weeds up with overzealousness.

'_How am I supposed to know about gardening? Who, in their right minds, spends their day hunched over piles of dirt?'_

She sighed, leaning back on her heels. Thank the Light, no one else was around to see her—it was really quite unladylike for her to squat this way. However, the stains from kneeling on the ground… Those would be more than a mere hassle to get out of the white material if she did not.

Her back was beginning to ache from hunching over and she was sure that her face had smears of soil from where she'd wiped at dripping sweat. Really; one would think that being under shade would be enough to shield against the late-summer heat.

'_Clearly, someone misinformed me,_' she thought bitterly.

She glanced up at the sky, squinting her eyes at the sun that broke through the leafy filter above her. Trees lined the walkway behind her with various types of bushes in between. She was knelt in between a tree with an almost grey trunk—the bark smooth with dark blotches—and an evergreen bush. Beneath her were small tufts of grasses and tiny, yellow flowers, dotted with clovers and weeds. Her instructions had been, in Chalinda's opinion, vague—pull out weeds and nurture the flowers.

'_How do you even nurture flowers?'_ Chalinda asked herself, '_I don't have any water for them—I thought that plants only needed dirt, sunlight and water. Whatever else could a plant possibly need?_'

She stood up, grunting at the stiffness that had taken over her legs, and moved down to the next interval between the evergreen and the next tree; grey and blotched like the last one. She crouched down again, tugging her skirts up to her thighs. Chalinda really did not like dirt.

She heard footsteps then, behind her. Chalinda, embarrassed, kept her head down. She could feel her cheeks warming, and she clenched her jaw against the impulse to stand up straight and pretend that she had not been digging in the dirt like a mere farm-girl. The footsteps came and went, the shadow of their owner passing over her quickly. Whoever it was made no remark, and did not seem to pay her any mind.

She grumbled under her breath and began picking through the grass, searching out weeds. The sun continued to bore down from overhead, heating her back unpleasantly. She could hear the unpleasant buzzing of a fly—or perhaps a bee—from somewhere nearby.

More footsteps came pattering down the path, muffled and sounding as if they were made from soft-soled shoes. Chalinda did not look up from her work. Her tongue stuck out from between her lip as she yanked a frail weed up almost violently. The footsteps halted behind her.

"Chalinda," said Maillese's voice behind her, "You _really_ aren't used to work like this, are you?"

Chalinda stopped what she was doing, and tilted her head back. Maillese was there, her mousy brown hair falling all over the place wildly. Her dress had dirt all over it in patches—more noticeably on her knees, and she had a hand on her hip. She had an amused expression—though she hid it poorly. Her large eyes were squinted up in the effort of keeping a straight face.

"I didn't do _that_ terribly, did I? I think I did well enough on that patch over there," replied Chalinda, sniffing.

"Oh yeah," laughed Maillese, "I mean. The patches of bare dirt look marvelous. It's a real piece of art!"

Chalinda clicked her tongue, and let out a soft sigh.

"Sorry about that," she grumbled, standing up straight. Her legs protested—which she ignored. By herself, groaning about it could be acceptable; but it would make her appear weak if she did so in front of anybody. Chalinda did not like to appear weak. She pointedly ignored the recognition in the other girl's eyes.

"Don't apologize to me," said Maillese with a grin, "I don't care much. The gardener won't be too happy when she sees, but hopefully we'll be long gone by then. We have a late luncheon to keep with Takima Sedai."

"Another lesson on channeling?" asked Chalinda hopefully, rubbing her hands together in attempts to remove the dust from them.

"We could only wish. No, our next lesson is going to be in Old Tongue. Do you have any papers and pens?" she asked, motioning for Chalinda to follow her.

"I do," she said and then asked, "What of our clothes?" Chalinda gestured to the dirt on the hem of her skirts with distaste.

"Well, that's why we're leaving early. So we can change. We'll have to wash them after our dinner. I'll show you where the washrooms are."

Chalinda kept her mouth closed. So they had to do their own laundry then, too. Was there no work that mustn't be done by novices? She was reconsidering her opinion of this place very quickly.

She followed Maillese to the novice quarters, changed quickly—trying to finger the dirt from beneath her nails—then began another trek through the vast halls of the tower. This time, following the multi-colored tiles, they passed many pairs and groups of Aes Sedai and had to stop often to bob polite curtsies from close to the wall before scurrying off once more.

Chalinda noticed that Aes Sedai did not offer them any sort of recognition beyond, perhaps, a slight nod without even looking at them. They simply kept walking, involved in their conversations or debates—often in silence with thoughtful facial expressions.

"Do all Aes Sedai treat Novices like servants?" whispered Chalinda as they walked. Her legs ached from the crouching from before; the brisk pace did not help.

"Pretty much," replied the other girl softly, giving Chalinda a sideways glance.

She fell quiet again. Chalinda had known that being here—without her name to provide any basic luxuries—would be difficult. She'd observed many times before, with the constant growth of the Two Rivers, how drastic change could affect people. But adapting was proving much more of a challenge than she'd thought.

'_It's only the first day here,'_ she reminded herself sternly, '_It's only the first day. You can, and _will_ do this, Chalinda t'Bashere Aybara.'_

She held on to that thought as she entered, following after Maillese, into a Brown's room with silent determination.

* * *

Falling onto her stiff mattress with an exhausted sigh, Chalinda toed her slippers from her aching feet. She relished that feeling, wriggling her stocking-covered toes and soaked up the cool air of her hat-box of a room. Her back still ached, and now her head throbbed unpleasantly from her lessons in the Old Tongue—yet _another_ thing that she had no knowledge or expertise in.

Dinner had been brief and silent—just as her lunch had been—and despite the heartiness of the stew she had been served, her stomach still rumbled emptily. However, Chalinda had not dared to ask for more, unsure of the response she would have gotten if she had. Tomorrow, she would _not_ miss breakfast.

Afterwards, true to her word, Maillese had led her to the washrooms, where Chalinda had spent hours stomping on her dress from earlier in the day, then waiting for them to hang near a low fire to dry. In frustration, she had almost abandoned the effort and sought her room—however one of the maids in livery had kindly shown her how to fan the line to speed the process up. Chalinda had been rewarded, at least, with a clean, dry, dress.

Then she had gotten lost, on her way to her rooms and had almost bumped headlong into an Accepted. Out of understanding, or even perhaps pity—Chalinda had, at that point, not cared which—the lanky girl with the striped Accepted dress had led her back to her rooms, chattering her ear off the entire way. Chalinda had only half listened and had nodded as most of her responses. The Accepted seemed to have understood, for she seemed to have minded not one little bit.

Now, she lied limply, enjoying the meager comfort that her bed provided her without moving for quite some time. Chalinda cleared her head of everything, taking time to enjoy the internal silence.

Hadn't Arryne mentioned doing something like that while she fought? The void, or something? Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy.

'_No,_' she willed herself, '_You must change. It won't do to get your sheets dirty. And tomorrow, you must take a proper bath._'

Warily, she finally forced herself to sit up and started undressing slowly. First her stockings, then the dress. She padded tiredly over to her wardrobe, groaning softly when she realized that she had forgotten to hang her dresses up.

'_I'll do it tomorrow._'

She pulled a shift from the colorless pile at the bottom and toddled back towards her bed, stripping bare as she did. Chalinda had barely gotten the clean shift over her head when she plopped—face first—onto her blankets. She hefted her body up, tugging the blankets sluggishly from beneath her then covered herself.

'_Who knew…'_ she thought sleepily, her eyes falling closed, '_That there was so much _work_ to be done?_'

* * *

Arryne let her bags hit the dusty floor with a thud. She rolled her shoulders, thankful to have the weight gone from them, while turning back to Lan. He stood in the doorway, his eyes darting around the room.

"Do I just wait here?" she asked.

"Arthmis will send someone for you," answered Lan, "He is the Master of Arms."

Arryne wrinkled her eyebrows. Master of Arms? That sounded important; and he wanted her as a student?

'_That's something, then,_' she thought.

"He is in charge of all Gaidin recruits. Arthmis is a good man, and won't treat you unfairly—he'll treat you the same as any other of his pupils," he continued, "Respect him, and obey him. He will not lead you in a direction that will put you in a bad position. He has a good eye for trainees, and he wouldn't have accepted you if he didn't think you were up to it."

Arryne caught the emphasis in Lan's words. What he'd really meant was that Arthmis would not treat her any differently than any of the _male_ students—which she was grateful for. As a girl, she stood out as it was. She did not want to stand out even further with any sort of special treatment.

"You will refer to your mentors as 'Master'," said Lan, "Not as a sign of allegiance—though I wouldn't be surprised if you develop one. But they are your teachers, and your guidance. Remember that, Arryne."

"I will, Lan," she promised, holding a hand up, "I want to be here."

"I know. But now you must show proof of that."

"I will do everything in my power, and a hundred steps beyond that," she said, "As long as my legs will carry me."

Lan grunted.

"We'll see how long that lasts. Be swift, girl. Be strong. The life of a Gaidin is not an easy one. I will come and check your progress when I can," said he.

"Alright."

He turned to go, then paused in the door way; it reminded Arryne of the night before. They both stood there, Lan staring at her with an unreadable expression and Arryne feeling the weight of her decision to settle down upon her. It was if, in that moment, something heavy had been placed upon her shoulders. Lan nodded slowly, as if recognizing that weight.

"Duty is heavier than a mountain, girl. Death is as light as a feather," was all he said before leaving. He did not say goodbye.

'_Light,_' thought Arryne, as she sat upon the bed, raising her hands to her temples, '_What have I gotten myself into?'_

She took a deep breath, and reached down into her bags to begin unpacking.

The bed was pushed against the wall, the longer sides parallel to the stark stone. The bedding was rough and dark and could use a good shaking A small table with a single drawer was next to that, and just to the right of that was a single paned window that sunlight poured through pleasantly. Across the room, opposite of the small bed was a dresser that stood horizontally; it had five drawers.

The rest of the room was bare, and needed a good dusting.

'_Mum would have a fit,'_ she thought, tugging out a pile of clothes. She opened the top drawer and stuffed them in without folding them.

'_Come to think—Chalinda or Olwrick would too. I hope that they don't make me move my stuff. I like the view.'_

Arryne kept herself busy with unpacking, emptying her bags one armful at a time. Her clothes went into the drawers—she noticed that her mother had taken the liberty in adding more than just a few shirts with more embroidery than Arryne would have preferred; and she lined her three pairs of boots, excluding the pair she was wearing, against the wall to the left of the drawers.

Satisfied with her handy-work, Arryne plopped down heavily upon the bed and nodded approvingly at her new-found organizational skills—never mind that the corner of one of her shirt-sleeves stuck out from the top drawer. She would fix that later.

She took a deep breath and fell back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. She ignored the sword on her back, though it dug uncomfortably into it. The unseen weight on her shoulders had not disappeared or alleviated. Lan's words had stuck to her, and Arryne wasn't sure that she'd ever forget them.

Her fingers found the fox-head medallion that rested underneath her shirt. She pulled it out and idly toyed with it, running her thumb over the engraving. It still tickled at the back of her foggy mind; and there was still nothing significant to determine why.

Footsteps from the hall beyond her open door pulled Arryne from her thoughts. She sat up on the bed to find Gawn, the red-haired lad from before in her doorway. His piercing grey-blue eyes were still hard and his face looked less than pleased.

"Settled in, recruit?" he asked shortly, sweeping the room in an icy gaze.

"Yes Sir," answered Arryne, standing up. She tugged her shirt down where it had begun to rise—caught up in the belt across her chest.

"Good. After dark, there will be no men allowed in this room. During the day you are allowed male company—with the door open," he said, folding his arms.

"Alright."

"There are generally no females allowed in the barracks after nightfall either. Night time guests must be approved with the Captain—unless your guest is Aes Sedai or Asha'Man."

"So you guys assign warders to Asha'Man too?" asked Arryne.

"They come for a warder now and again," he answered stiffly then said, "You will bathe separately from the men. You will bathe after the allotted hours that they do. This is for your privacy."

"Okay."

"Meals will be taken in our mess hall—which I will show you shortly. While we walk we will go over an inventory of supplies that you will need while you are here—what you have and what we will provide to you with a fee."

Arryne was suddenly glad of the full purse in the drawer containing her small clothes. Saving had been a good idea.

"You will keep yourself presentable and in emotional balance at all times," he continued, "You will follow Tar Valon and White Tower Law. Thievery and assault will not be tolerated. Any offenses will be dealt with in according to Tower law. If you have… Differences with someone, then you duel it out under the supervision of the Captain, your assigned mentor, or the Master of Arms.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

Arryne nodded, and said, "Yes Sir."

"Good. Follow me."

Arryne shrugged behind his back and fell into line behind him. He did not walk as briskly as Lan had, but he did carry himself in a similar manner. His shoulders were kept straight—unlike most men of his height, and his limbs relaxed; borderline _Cat Crosses the Courtyard_. He did not once rest his hand upon the grip of his sword.

He led her down the long, bare hallway. Arryne made note of the numbers that were embedded neatly into the wood. Some were faded, the wood dark and old. A few were fresh. They had been replaced recently. Her number had been 28—one of the very last rooms on the top floor of the building. She had not seen anyone else enter or leave this floor.

Down the flights of stairs they went, and into a stone foyer that young men strutted around in. The great double doors that Lan had originally brought her through opened and closed constantly. Some who passed through them wore white tabards, or color-shifting cloaks. Most simply wore clothes that varied from man to man. Some wore tight fitting breeches, while others wore wide-trousers that billowed over their boots. Some wore coats with lace, coats that had seen better days, and some merely wore simply colored tunics.

The floor beneath her was of stone, and a dark blue strip of carpet that started at the stairs was stretched out over the length of the foyer. Above the great double doors hung a banner baring the symbol of Aes Sedai—both the white flame of Tar Valon and the adjoined black mark of the Black Tower. A gleaming suit of armor stood to the right of the stair-case, and to the left was a detailed marble bust of a man that Arryne did not recognize.

Great tapestries hung from the walls on either side of a set of doors on either side of the busy hall. One colorfully depicted a battle of men on horses slaying beasts that were part man, part animal. It was a disturbing scene, full of blood and death. Another depicted a line of women with their hands raised; hurling great hunks of earth at their enemies. Men stood beside them with their weapons raised, wearing brown cloaks. One the other side of the room, a painted wooden cut out was framed that depicted men in black coats standing around a taller, red-haired man that hefted a white sword.

"Through those doors," said Gawn, pointing to their left, "Is the mess hall. That is where you will take your meals. Three a day. You can sit and talk where ever and to whomever you please. There are no strong ales provided unless it's a special occasion. Naming days are generally the only special occasion that qualifies. We do keep track. Weak brews are served with evening meals and at night time.

"Through the doors over there," he continued, gesturing to the right, "are the quarters belonging to Mentors, the Captain of the Guard, and the Master of Arms. Those quarters are otherwise off limits to recruits unless there is an emergency. Follow me."

Arryne obeyed, and kept her attention to what she was being shown. It wouldn't do for her to get lost because of thoughtlessness. They exited through the great double doors and down the wide stone stairs outside. Their grey color contrasted sharply to the stark white of the stone walkway at their base. Low bushes were planted in rows on either side.

"The stables are down that path. The horse you arrived on will be there, should you need it. You can come and go as you wish, provided it does not interfere with your training. If personal issues come to light, take it up with your mentor.

"Down this path here are the training grounds. They're closer to the Tower itself. We'll make a detour there on our way back."

While he walked, he gestured to the places he mentioned in turn. He seemed to know the place like the back of his hand. How long had Gawn been there, training? Was he a mentor, or merely a gifted pupil? Arryne toyed with the fox-head medallion while she tailed after him thoughtfully.

"Gawn—err, Sir, my sister's in the Tower studying to be an Aes Sedai. How likely is it that I'll be seeing her around?" asked Arryne.

"Not likely at all, recruit. Novices are kept away from the men training to be Gaidin," he replied without looking back.

"But I'm not a man," she pointed out.

"But you'll be treated like one while you're here, recruit," he said, emphasizing his words sharply. Arryne wrinkled her nose behind his back, but fell quiet at his impatience.

The walkway they sauntered upon twisted suddenly to the left, and Arryne found herself entering a patio encircled with curious trees that reflected the white tower in their trunks—they were pale in color; as were their foliage. They were not evergreens, but still smelled vaguely piney. They passed through that patio and continued down the pathway.

Arryne could hear in the distance the sounds of wood clashing loudly. A loud grunt would often echo a pause in the clacking. Suddenly then, they came into view of a wider patio and a large grassy yard. Young men in all manner of clothing sparred with one another. A youth with dark hair was in the center of the organized commotion, surrounded by three others.

"Our detour," explained Gawn, tonelessly, "Our designated area is essentially a large circle. That tower, over there is where you'll get your supplies. What do you have already?"

"Two blades and oil for them, oils for my leathers and a sharpening stone," she answered, taking in a deep breath.

She had to resist the urge to leap into the fray of men whirling about with wooden training swords. Not a few of them had a full beard or a few grey hairs—possibly mentors, or perhaps just older pupils. Her hands itched to be around the grips of her swords, spinning about in a flurry of strikes. She envied the other recruits.

Gawn finally glanced back at her. His expression was unreadable, but his usually cold eyes glimmered unusually. Arryne made a show of standing straight with her shoulders squared. She met his gaze with a determined one.

"That's more than some arrive with, recruit. That's good enough. You have some talent in using two blades rather than one, that's good. Have you any training blades?"

"Not with me," Arryne admitted.

"We will give you two. Keep them in good condition. The first two are free. After that, you'll pay for any that you muck up. You will also be granted a quarterstaff, a pike, a dagger, and a bow," he explained.

"I have a bow," said Arryne. She'd forgotten that she'd packed it. Gawn gave her a look.

"Sorry, I'd forgotten," she mumbled. The towering red-haired youth rolled his eyes.

"It'd be best not to make a habit out of that, recruit." He replied dryly.

"Sorry about that, sir."

"Come on then. I'll show you the armory—your weapons and training gear will be kept there. Your first lessons, as of tomorrow, will be learning how to properly care for them."

Arryne followed him around the edge grassy yard drawing not a few stares. A few men paused their sparring with baffled looks, and a few leaned in to whisper to their partner. All eyes that noticed her were curious, and questions hung in the air with the sounds of the men who trained.

Some used quarterstaffs, a two handed weapon that Arryne had considered to be nonlethal. Their sounds were muffled by the leather that had been wrapped around them. Others used a miniature copy of a wooden training sword—daggers. All of them moved with purpose, and any time one struck Arryne felt a pang of remorse for the man who would bare dark bruises the next day.

When they approached the tower on the far side of the small field, Gawn greeted the two guards that stood on either side of the worn doors with a smile.

'_So it's just me he doesn't like then. Lovely,_' she thought wryly.

They entered the poorly lit armory and immediately Arryne was struck with the strong smells of polish and leather. The smell of metal were strong, too. The almost overwhelming scents battered at her nose harshly, and she squinted up her face in displeasure. Gawn noticed, and for the first time, gave her a wry smirk.

He led her past racks of plain iron blades, and into a narrow room lined with shelves and stands. A large wooden crate was filled with tall staffs, and two others with pikes—one with sharpened blades and the other with unsharpened blades with rounded points. Unstrung bows hung upon the farthest wall. Most were short, but Arryne pointed out at least two long Two Rivers bows. Upon the other two walls hung leather breastplates and bracers of various sizes—as well as a few wooden bucklers.

"This is where your training supplies will be kept. In the other room you will find the wooden training blades that we spoke of. You may keep those in your room. The rest, however, will be returned here, each night, after being cleaned," said Gawn, fingering at one of the quarterstaffs.

"Makes sense to me," said Arryne shrugging. She passed sideways through the narrow space between Gawn and the shelf behind him with ease and made her way to the racks containing the leather training gear, making Gawn look up from the staffs with raised eyebrows.

They would be, in dangerous combat, almost useless. However, the rounded points of the training pikes and wooden swords would pose little threat to them. Arryne ran a hand over one of the leather bracers, pinching it between her thumbs. She wrinkled her nose.

"I don't really have to wear one of these, do I?" she asked, glancing back at her tour-guide, making a face.

"We don't make recruits wear them, but you'd be the better for it, until you get comfortable with weapons other than those blades of yours," he replied, looking at her doubtfully.

"I'll pass, then, if it's all the same to you. They look uncomfortable and stuff. Useless in a battle of speed," said Arryne, turning her back on them. She had never worn anything other than her regular clothing to train a day in her life—and she wouldn't start doing so now.

"Whatever you want, recruit. Go pick out the blades that you'll want to train with, and a bag to keep them in so we can finish our little tour."

Arryne obeyed and slid past him once more, eyeing him as she did so. He met her gaze evenly, his face still unreadable.

In the next room, among the floating dust motes and creaky floorboards, while picking through the leather-wrapped hilts of the training blades, she felt Gawn's cool gaze upon her back. How in the Light would she be able to prove herself to him?

* * *

The patio fell quiet when Arryne reemerged from the armory with a thick leather bag over her shoulders. The pommels of her training swords stuck out from the flap on either side, and Arryne had to tug at her shirt that seemed to keep riding up her stomach when she wasn't paying attention.

It took a moment for her eyes to readjust to the bright sunlight beyond the open doorway but when they did, Arryne noted that while a good portion of the trainees did not break from their conversations, sparring, or lessons; many pairs of eyes settle on her. Gawn, from her side, gave the lot a wave and a nod. A few of their gazes fell, while most simply scrunched their faces up in curiosity. One of them, bravely in Arryne's opinion, called out;

"Is she a new recruit?"

Gawn glanced back at her, but before he could answer, Arryne called back impulsively, "That's right!"

She bounced the bag on her shoulder, for effect, and grinned broadly. She ignored the butterflies that sprang into action in her stomach, and swallowed back a small spike of anxiety. Let them think that she was completely confident. Let them think that she did not know herself to be an abnormality.

"Really?" asked another trainee—he had a round face and he was sweating profusely. His cheeks were red and gleaming.

"Don't you see the gear-bag over her shoulder? She's serious, you idiot!" said a sandy-haired youth from next to him. He had his training blade resting upon his shoulder leisurely. He eyed Arryne with suspicion.

"But—burn me! She's a _woman_! Isn't there something against that?"

"Not that I know of. Oi! Kerruy, is there a law against women-folk being Gaidin?"

Arryne stood there while the fellows on the patio talked about her; Right in front of her! Not even the slightest bit of modesty, this lot. Arryne did not let her broad smile falter—and resisted making a face at them behind Gawn's back.

"I don't think there is, mate," called the lad who had been the first to ask of her.

"Well. This is going to get interesting, then," said another.

Gawn held up a hand, and the men fell into an unsettled and delicate silence. The men who had spoken out all stared at him with incredulous expressions.

"Peace, men. Where are your mentors?" asked Gawn loudly, but not unkindly. He swept over them with an icy gaze.

"Probably eating by now," said the bloke with the round face. He wiped at his sopping forehead with a dingy handkerchief.

"Back to work with you lot then," said Gawn, stepping into motion.

Most of the men turned away, returning to their training with soft grumbles and murmurs. Arryne felt a wave of self-consciousness sweep over her, and she tried not to stare at the ground. The men may have gone back to their duties, but now all of their conversations would be of her.

Gawn said to Arryne, over his shoulder, "We'll go check in the mess hall. We need a mentor for you."

"No need to go and search them out, Gawn. I'll take her," said another man.

Gawn paused, then glanced over his shoulder with his usual unreadable expression. His grey-blue eyes shimmered and he turned upon his heel, facing Arryne; Who also spun around to face the speaker.

He was not an incredibly tall man—Gawn was taller than he—but he still stood almost a head higher than Arryne. He had black, short cut hair—shaved oddly at the forehead, and had a shaved, smooth face. He was smiling, his thin lips spread wide, and his dark eyes were squinted up pleasantly. He was not pale; his skin had seen many midday suns in his time. At his hip rested a heron-marked sword.

Gawn, surprisingly burst into a friendly smile, and met the fellow with a one-armed hug and a casual slap on the back.

"Will you now, Wetron?" said Gawn—it was not a question—with lighthearted chuckling, "Light, but I'm glad to hear it. I'm not sure if anyone else would have been willing."

"Oh with a face like that?" joked Wetron, "I don't reckon I know a man who wouldn't. A fine breed, that lass. Two Rivers, from the looks of it. I'll make a warrior out of her, you mark me now. I'd even wager that in a few months' time, she could carry a heron-marked on her person without much trouble—Oh I heard about her using two blades. That'll be an interesting technique, once it's been polished a bit."

Arryne stood there, dumbly, unable to summon an ounce of the boldness that she'd felt before. She resisted the urge to fidget with the hem of her shirt, and instead tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She, for the second time in only a few days, felt like a horse up to block for sale.

Gawn's face straightened, and he shook his head.

"I don't like wagering when I absolutely know I'll win, Wetron. It's just not fair to the next man," he said, folding his long arms. His eyes betrayed his serious tone.

"Luckily I know how to bet then, isn't it? Like I said, Gawn. I'll take her. I'll start her off first thing tomorrow morning. Do you want me to take her from here?"

Gawn nodded, and beckoned Arryne forward.

"Yes, Sir?" said Arryne slowly, eyeing the two men in front of her.

"Wetron will be your mentor. When you have troubles, you'll go to him. He will train you, and find you sparring partners. You will follow his exact instructions. Understood, recruit?" Gawn's tone was harsh again; flat and toneless. The casual way he had treated the men had all but disappeared, now that he was addressing her.

'_Light, but it's like he has two different men in that body of his,_' thought Arryne.

"Understood," said Arryne, enunciating every syllable. She deliberately left the 'Sir' out of her words, meeting Gawn's wry gaze evenly.

"Good," he said and turned to Wetron, "I have other trainees I've yet to see today. Good luck with her."

"Oh, I expect a good polishing will be all this one needs. But thanks, all the same," said Wetron to Gawn's retreating form. In response, Gawn raised a hand in a wave and strode away without looking back.

Arryne wrinkled her nose, and turned to Wetron; her Mentor. He smiled at her, and dipped into a flourishing bow.

"Welcome to the White Tower miss recruit, Ma'am," he said, "It's a pleasure to have you."


End file.
